


Allegiance

by OldDVS



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love, Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Wizards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 14:26:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18412493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldDVS/pseuds/OldDVS
Summary: This part of a series of stories from my very odd crossover of Harry Potter and From Eroica With Love.  In this story,  Klaus and Dorian have been together over a over a year, and they go back to Schloss Eberbach for a few things.  They're not stealing what belonged to Klaus in the first place, right?





	Allegiance

**Author's Note:**

> Part two of three connected stories.
> 
>  
> 
> I lost some files which had the early stories, but as I find or recreate, I will post. The general plot is that the elder von dem Eberbach, despairing of an heir with magic, took matters into his own hands, had Klaus dosed with a varient of Draught of Living Death, and assigned a new heir. Ten years later Dorian's chance encounter with Harry Potter leads to Klaus waking up to a new life. He's not happy. Eventually it is Klaus/Dorian. Other stories in the series have Potter/Snape. One does not have to have read the manga this is based on, but it would probably help.

Allegiance  
Part Two of three small stories about returning to the Schloss

 

They had left the car in the village, and after fifteen minutes of good, healthy exercise, the sky lightened, and the shapes of the trees emerged from the darkness. The birds began to chirp and call, and the smell of cut grass came with the breeze. He'd broken into the Schloss a dozen times, but this time it took an extra ten minutes. The gates and alarms had been upgraded, not that this was a problem for the retired thief. They were soon moving again.

Dorian said nothing as they made their way up the path, leaving Klaus to his own thoughts. Klaus, who strode beside him, head high, looking out over the grounds, frowning, saying nothing. The dew in the grass began to sparkle as the sun lifted above the horizon. They arrived at the steps of the huge old building and stopped with their back to the door, watching the glorious oranges and pinks spread across the east.

Ten minutes went by before Dorian turned and said, “Your job is the harder. Mine will take the most time. Why don't you check out the situation our here while I get started inside?”

Klaus nodded, and went down the steps again, turning north. Dorian watched for a moment, thrilling, as he always did, at the sight of his darling moving under his own power. And at the sight of that still-magnificent arse. He turned away reluctantly and stood staring at the door for a moment before he pulled out his wand.

“Alohomora” he said crisply, and smiled as the door popped open. It would never get old, having instant access at a word. He stepped in, looking about with curiosity, for it had been almost ten years since he had been inside. The differences were subtle. A child's toy rested against the wall and, and the step could use a good scrub. Nothing was dirty, really, but the place lacked the polish, the sharpness that came with daily care. Closing the door carefully behind him, Dorian began moving towards the stairs. First he wished to visit the copy of the Man in Purple, to see how the painting was holding up. The original had needed some work last year. The damp of England had hot agreed with the poor thing and the professional treatments had taken an entire month.

When he arrived at the gallery, however, he found an inferior landscape in a hideous frame in the place where the Eberbach treasure had hung for so many years. Dorian crossed his arms over his chest and stared hard. Really! It took a moment for him to recover from his tiny little snit. Then he lifted his wand and said firmly. “Accio Gehoren zu Klaus!” A red swirl of dust seemed to flash across the room, but nothing else happened.

Dorian shrugged. He walked along the side of the room, opening each door, locked or not, and muttering the phrase into each room. He had no luck until he came to a small spare office. This time, the drawer of the desk rattled and shook even before he stopped speaking. Upon being opened, the drawer spat out a green pen, which floated across the desk to drop into Dorian's hand. It was one of those small green pens NATO had issued to agents about fifteen years ago. Dorian picked it up and then slid it into a velvet bag that hung from his wrist. His smile was much wider now that the spell had actually worked. He had more confidence in the outcome.

His progress was a little slow, for he stopped to study some of the pictures in the gallery. There was even a small statue he had not seen before. A trite subject done in fine marble, by a practiced hand. It was worth a few moments of his time to study, but not worth acquiring. As he was bending over it trying to determine more about the source of the marble, he heard a sharp young voice from behind him.

“Who are you? “

Dorian turned, and found himself smiling. What a darling, lovely boy! He was standing very straight and frowning fiercely. Dark blue eyes and dark brown hair, but the youngster looked quite as if he were a relative of dear Klaus. Which no doubt he was.

“I am Dorian, dear lad. And you?”

“I am Kurt Heinz von dem Eberbach!” It was said proudly, and each word was a challenge.

“Yes? Then you would be the oldest son of Erik, then?” Dorian asked in a friendly voice. He received a sharp nod in response. “A big lad, for almost eleven,” Dorian said. “Shouldn't you be in school?”

“I have a tutor. Grandfather wishes to oversee our education,” It was said by rote, as if were a sentence he had heard or said a dozen times before.

Dorian smiled and said, “I'm sure.”

Before Dorian could continue the boy said again, “What are you doing in our house? How did you get in?”

There was a long silence as Dorian studied the child, whose lip was out a bit, getting in the way of a determined scowl. Finally, Dorian stretched out his hand, bringing his wand into plain sight.

“Herr Wizard!” Young Kurt was almost shouting, “I want you to tell me! If you should not be here, you should leave.”

“Not until I fetch what I came to get,” Dorian said mildly.

“What do you mean?” The scowl deepened, and the boy took a half step back. “Are you a thief?” He was indignant, but uncertain, his eyes darting towards the door.

“Not at the moment. I am taking things that do not belong to you. Nothing I do not have a right to take, dear boy. It is a very long story. Would you like to hear it?”

This time the silence came from the boy. “Yes,” he said suddenly.

“Let's see,” Dorian said, looking around as if for a chair. Seeing nothing in the immediate vicinity, he folded himself gracefully down to the floor and extended his hand, indicating the young man should sit beside him. Kurt lacked the grace of the older man, and seemed unused to sitting on the floor.

“Do you know how your father became the heir of the Graf?” Dorian asked.

“His son died, and there were no other children, so my father was chosen to be the heir.”

“Just so. But the son did not die,” Dorian said seriously.

“He must have. Otherwise the man would not have had to choose a new heir.” This was said firmly, with the certainty of one who had logic on his side.

“Ah. Well, first, dear heart, I must tell you that if I go ahead with this story I might shatter some illusions you have, and possibly hurt your feelings once or twice. Are you sure you want me to go ahead?”

The boy studied him again. Dorian found it amusing. This lad was not admiring his beauty, which was the usual reason people stared at him. At the moment Dorian, with his hair in a thick braid tucked down inside his black wizard's robe, and his outfit hidden by the same, looked almost severe. Perhaps he even looked dangerous. Dorian smiled charmingly, to look less so.

“You are a wizard,”

“Well, yes. But so are you, are you not?” Dorian tilted his head, studying the boy back. Really, in his dark shirt and pants and his carefully cut and combed hair, he looked more like a miniature adult than a youngster, and all too much like his cousin.

“I think so. You don't really know for sure until you get your letter.” The anxiousness Kurt felt about that letter was reflected in his eyes for a brief moment. “I want to know. Tell me why you're here.”

“Well, it began, strangely enough, with the letter of which you just spoke. A letter which never came for your grandfather, or for his son. This was a huge disappointment for the older man, but not to the son, for the father had never even told his son about the magical world. There was a very good chance, you see, that the letter would never come, because this line of the Eberbach family had only produced squibs and near squibs for several generations, and Klaus had never demonstrated even one tiny bit of magical potential.”

“Grandfather is a squib?” the boy squeaked, horrified.

“A squib who so longed for magic that he tried all he could to get it back for his family. For example, he decided he would not marry a muggle or a squib. He wanted a witch for a wife. But witches were in short supply for him; witches want wizards. He had to use his money and his castle to attract a witch. The one who married him was much older than he, almost too old to have a baby, but he did not know that because she wore a glamour always. I think she married him because wizards wanting children chose younger and prettier wives, and her choices were so severely limited as well. Yet they were well matched and I think, perhaps, they loved each other. She was beautiful to him, you see, and he loved that she had agreed to marry him and give him his dream. She liked being treasured, and she wanted a child as much as he did.

“She became pregnant, when both had almost given up hope. She sustained herself and the child with magic, and kept up her glamour, and thus put an enormous strain on herself and the baby. In fact, we think that, unconsciously, she pulled all the magic from the baby so that they both could live long enough for him to be born. She never really recovered, and died within the year.”

“The baby...he was Klaus Heinz? My father told me about him once. He was a NATO officer. A hero.”

”Oh, so he was. Major von dem Eberbach. He was also the most magnificent man you ever saw! Fierce green eyes, and a strong, powerful body. Black hair, worn longer than he should have been able to wear it as an Army man. A temper like a volcano, and he smoked too much, but he was a soldier, and he did, always did, his duty.” Dorian looked sideways at the boy, who was sitting now with his arms wrapped around his knees as he listened intently. “I fell in love with him the first time I saw him”

The boy's forehead wrinkled and his eyes widened, but he said nothing. It was clear, however, that he found this news unsettling.

“Klaus never gave me a bit of hope, though. You see, he knew that he was expected to have a wife and children. It was so important to his father. The father wanted magical children so very very much. He was unhappy when no letter came, not from Durmstrang, his first choice, or Hogwarts, his second. Not even from Salem College, in the United States, and he was not all fond of the United States – the war, you know – but he would have danced with happiness if they had invited his son to be educated there. But Klaus had never even a hint of magic about him.

“It was the same as before, with his father. Magical women did not want Klaus, who had no magic. Even if they had been willing to overlook the lack of magic for the beauty of his face, his body, for his status as heir, his personality put them off. He was a stern, frowning man who had many responsibilities. He was not very good at courting women. In fact, he was terrible at it. At first, when he began to show an interest in a woman and she happened to be Muggle, his father always managed to discourage the match. The father would introduce him to witches, but all his son's attempts at courting witches were disasters in other ways, as he did not know they were witches. Of course. From the point of view of Klaus, he every time would meet a woman, and think he had caught her interest, abruptly she would drop him. Since he didn't know about his father's manipulation and about the witches, he became confused and frustrated and gave up on trying to find a wife. He concentrated on his career.

“Eventually his father relented. It was a big sacrifice for him, but he decided that it was not so important to have a witch in the family, if only Klaus would only marry someone, anyone! He began to wonder if his son even liked ladies. In fact, he thought Klaus might like men. That was my fault.”

“Your fault?” Kurt asked. He was eying Dorian, who was pulling a long tail of hair out of the back of his robes, taking off the leather tie and shaking out an incredible amount of yellow curls. “Oh.” said Kurt when he caught the whole effect. Dorian smiled warmly at the boy and and watched the Adam's apple bob as the boy swallowed, hard. So nice to know one still had the knack.

“I was fluttering around Klaus every chance I could get, darling. And never once did he give me so much as a glance back. But there I was, and once the old man saw us outside the NATO office, and I was flirting with Klaus, as I always do. Very innocent, but Klaus's father drew his own conclusions. Well, the old man was willing to overlook a lack of magic, apparently, but not That. He was afraid of having no one at all to carry on his name.” Dorian paused in this story to look at the small watch on his wrist. “Oh, dear. Perhaps we had better talk as we go. It's such a big building, isn't it?”

“We have some of it closed off, to save costs,” the boy volunteered as they both stood up. They went out of the room and along the corridor, the child trailing just a little behind. At every door, Dorian would open it, repeat his spell, wait, and move on. Sometimes if there was a rattle from a drawer, or an aura of red around an item, he went in and investigated further, often retrieving a small item. Usually casting the spell from the doorway sufficed, as there was nothing to find.. He was amassing a very large collection of NATO pens, but little else.“What happened next?” Kurt asked as they started down the north stairway.

“When Klaus reached his thirty-fifth birthday, his father made up his mind that Klaus was never going to marry, and he went hunting for a Very Bad Wizard. He found one who could do what was wanted. For a very large fee, of course.” Dorian opened the door to a bathroom that looked like it was seldom used and chanted his spell. This time there was a thump from the cabinet on the wall. The door came open and a rolled elastic bandage flew through the air. Dorian easily caught it and inspected it before shrugging and putting it his velvet bag.

“What happened?”

“The very bad wizard had a potion called Draught of Living Death, and first the nasty bastard knocked the dear Major in the head and then he spelled the potion into his stomach. Then he left him there to bleed onto the carpet, to live or die as he would. Klaus was not found until the next day, by his very worried men. They took him to hospital and the hospital gave him the finest care. But poor Klaus never woke up.”

'Ohhh.” The boy said, and then added, “That was mean. Unsportsmanlike.”

“Exactly so.” They were in an empty room. The spell had brought nothing forth, but Dorian had entered anyway and was soon on his knees behind the door, prying with a small tool he brought from a pocket in his robe. There was a click and a small sliding door became visible as Dorian pulled it open. “Isn't this a sweet little pocket? One pushes this knot, here, do you see?” Dorian demonstrated. Inside were was a stack of bills and some letters. “1937,” Dorian observed as he glanced at the postmark. “You might like to show this hidey hole to your father at some point,” he said, pushing it all back inside and closing the sliding panel. He stood up, brushed the dust from his robe and led the way out.

Turning to Kurt, Dorian said, “That was fun. I love finding secrets, don't you? There are probably others. Many castles have them. You should amuse yourself finding them, on rainy days.”

“Yes sir,” the boy said, automatically. He was looking over his shoulder, no doubt marking which room it was in his mind.

In the next room, which was filled with furniture not currently in use, the spell caused a red halo to settle around a footstool. It was small, with the legs painted black and with an attractive bit of tapestry on top. Dorian shrank it and tucked it into the velvet bag, then saw the boy staring at it and said, “Marvelous wizarding invention, this bag. It holds a great deal more than it should. I so wish I had one of these when I was working.”

“Working?” asked Kurt.

“Oh, yes, In my youth I was an excellent thief. I even worked for NATO several times. Where I met your lovely cousin.”

“Why did you steal things?” Kurt asked.

“Dear heart, one story at a time!” Dorian was striding down the hall again, flicking his wand at every bit of furniture lining the walls. “Although that, too, involves magic. It turns out almost everything does. Magic and relatives,” he laughed.

“But, what happened to Klaus?” the boy asked.

“Our story left Klaus in the hospital, did it not? There he stayed for three months, without coming out of the coma. Then the Graf took him and had him placed in a lovely sanitarium for the rest of the year, and after that, he moved him to a very modest place in Switzerland where such sad cases are housed. A place where they take the hopeless cases to wait to die. He did not say to anyone where Klaus was.”

When they reached the next room, Dorian began again. “It took me forever, darling, to find where my man had been taken, and when I did! I was horrified! He'd lost so much weight. And the room!  
No ventilation, and not even a window. They kept the lights low always. Someone tended to his body in the morning and in the afternoon, and once in the night, and the rest of the time left him as he was. He had bedsores and they had shaved his head! He was wearing one of those hospital robes that don't fit well, split up the back. He would have been terribly upset if he had known. As he could not, I became quite upset in his stead.”

They stopped for another room. In this one the swirling red dust indicated another hidden space, in the wall. After prying up a tile, they found a little wooden box, which Dorian put away in his bag without looking inside. After using a sticking charm to put the tile back in place, Dorian said, “You might want to keep an eye on that and have it properly fixed. It turns out my sticking charms only last a month or two.”

“What did you do?”

“For Klaus? I made the last major heist of my career, dear lad. I took him.”

“Took him?”

“In the dead of night, without leaving a trace. I didn't even leave my card behind. My team and I were away by dawn, and we smuggled him out of the country and over to England. We used the zeppelin. Lovely machine. We still have it. We use it for advertizing at trade shows, and rent it out upon occasion. Would you like to take your friends up? Say for your sixteenth birthday? It's great fun!”

Kurt's eyes went wide again. He nodded cautiously. Dorian whipped out a small notebook, made a note and then slid it into his pocket again.

“We took him to my castle in the dead of night. I had called in doctors, had made a room ready, bought all the doctors said he needed, and I hired nurses and therapists. It took months before poor Klaus was healthy again, but we couldn't get him to wake. We tried music therapy, hypnotism, electroshock—but only mild shocks. I could not bear to hurt my Major more, he was suffering so already. The only thing we ever tried which helped at all was cleaning his blood, and that was accidental. He became sick and the doctor recommended a process to filter out impurities in his blood. I'm not sure it was an improvement; afterward, he would sometimes moan, and twitch a little. He even turned over once on his own! This eventually stopped and he returned to the comatose state he had been enduring for five years. It was so heartbreaking, we really thought he was waking up, that all our effort would be rewarded.”

“He was asleep for five years?” Kurt asked, astonished.

“Almost ten, in the end. We finally found some wizards who understood the problem, and with their help he woke up at last! Thank goodness we had kept up the physical therapy, and...ah. Perhaps I should not make the story too long. It took both potions and wands to make him well.”

Kurt frowned. “Why didn't you try magic before that?”

“Oh, child, another long story! I didn't know about wizards. I thought them just tales.”

“But you're a wizard.”

“I didn't come into my magical inheritance until I was,” he paused, struggled with the truth, but then just said it, “thirty-nine years old.”

“You don't look thirty-nine years old,” the boy told him solemnly.

Dorian, now nearing forty-two, tossed his glorious curls and looked down at the boy from behind one luxurious wave. “You darling! Thank you for saying so!”

Kurt looked distinctly unnerved by this. No doubt he was unused to anyone so utterly gay and fabulous in his vicinity. “So. What happened next.”

“We worked hard to get Klaus to walk again, and eat again, and talk again. And we investigated, of course, what had happened.”

“What grandfather did.”

“You call him grandfather?”

“Mama says he wants us to, so we do.”

Of course. Dorian huffed. “She wants to keep him happy, of course.”

“He IS the head of the house,” the boy explained. “But he is sick now. He spends most of the time in his bed. We don't see him, often. He has nurses, and we must not get in their way.”

“Ah,”

Dorian had entered another room. Mmm! “What lovely old pieces.” The room was given over to the storage of cloth and tapestry. “How sad they are hidden away!” The racks were huge and heavy, and supported both big rugs and small framed works. Automatically, Dorian murmured the spell, and was rather startled to find several small items turn red. One by one he searched them out, inspected each, shrunk it, and shoved it into his velvet sack. “Made by his mother, perhaps,” Dorian suggested as he stared at an embroidered square. He could think of no other way such things would come into Klaus's possession. Or stay there once acquired. Interesting. So items that might belong by right of descent, and were not entailed to the estate, were recognized by the spell? Or did Klaus just not recognize that the items were his? An unappreciated gift?

It wasn't until they had finished that floor and went down the stairs to the next level that Kurt dared prod him for the rest of the story.

“We discovered that not only did the old man hire a wizard to disable his son and steal the rest of his life, and not only had he hidden him away without any attempt to make him comfortable, but he had taken all his son's things. He either threw them out, sold them, or kept them. Klaus's cars, his weapons. Sold the flat and kept the money. Cleared the bank accounts and savings, and directed the stipend for his son's care into the estate bank account. Even after he knew someone had taken his son away.”

“That would be against the law. Grandfather will have to pay the government back.” Kurt was frowning that frown again, the one that looked too old for his little boy face.

“It was morally reprehensible, more to the point.” Even as Eroica he had had SOME moral standards. It wasn't, as the boy had said, sportsmanlike, to steal the last mark from a man in a coma. And the only reason the old goat would have done that is if he were absolutely sure that Klaus would not wake up.

“At any rate, this week our lawyers have asked for the money back. We will probably get it; the old man will want to protect what he can of his reputation. But we could not ask for the items Klaus left behind in the schloss here, we didn't know what was left. We did not want to take anything which did not belong to Klaus by right, so we have this spell, which calls to us everything which Klaus considered his.”

“Oh! That's not really stealing, then, is it?” The boy was smiling now, and it made a good difference in his face.

“I do not think so, no.”

“It's like looking for hidden treasure!” The boy was definitely warming to the entire idea, his eyes were sparkling.

“Yes, and I have only one day to do it, so we must move along now.” They went from room to room more quickly, with Kurt becoming more active in the search as he opened doors, closets, and drawers in furniture, and helped retrieve items found. Dorian, doubtless ruining the young man for life, pointed out weaknesses in the security, hiding places for games or other adventures, and gave a running commentary on the artistic merits of such paintings, statues, and furniture as they came across them.

“Now, this piece is nice,” Dorian said. “Notice this—not veneer at all, all solid wood. With professional restoration it could be worth fifty thousand pounds, assuming no one has been nitwit enough to try...no, the drawers are pristine, very nice. Sinfully heavy, which is why no one has carted it off, no doubt.” And later, “This is a darling desk, Kurt, see if you can have it in your room. There are secret drawers here, and here. Try to open this one...a little harder, keep a light pull...ah! Treasures already here! Italian coins, most of them. This one? Pure gold. Let's try the other one. Ah, needs a key. Your pardon, but I just happen to have just the tool...ah. Well! The jewels in the handle of this letter opener are quite genuine. Hmm. The earrings, too. Sapphires. Not the rest of these, though. Glass, although quite good otherwise. Aren't we having fun?”

“Yes,” said Kurt, hanging over the drawer and poking at the tumble of jewels.

“They're all jumbled like that because they were not secured before moving. You might find out who they belonged to if you can discover what room the desk came from originally. And where it was before that. Now, more steps? Oh, look, a gun room!”

“There are four,” Kurt offered. “Three in the house and one out there, which has the shooting range.” He pointed out the window at a long, low building which had probably once been a stable. On the other side of the building a lone figure on a black horse was following the edge of the lawn, heedful of the effect of hooves on fine grass.

“Three? We will have a job there! Klaus is an excellent shot, you know, and won prizes even before he joined the army” It was indeed, a job. Eight rifles, twelve pistols, eight boxes of ammunition, a cleaning kit, and a large selection of knives went into the velvet sack. It involved climbing, prying up the edges of frames, unfastening straps and unlocking drawers. Dorian, it must be confessed, was showing off just a tiny bit, and enjoying the mild destruction, which he always put back into order with is wand. It was a lovely wand, all gold and white, which Dorian had a habit of holding loosely with two fingers, which drew attention to his hands.

In the adjoining room, the medals that Klaus had won shooting filled an entire box, and there was another box of certificates and papers, and a football trophy, too, all from the schoolboy years. The last two rooms were actually a museum, with antique weapons of all kinds mounted on the wall or in elegant cases. Nothing there actually belonged to Klaus, and for the first time Eroica came to the surface and Dorian had a deep urge to take some of them. The ones the spell circled, lightly pink, indicating they had bee often handled by Klaus, as well as several masterpieces of forged steel that were pieces of art in their own right.

But no.

He turned away. The mementos from the army years must be in another room. If here at all.

When the wing was finished, they went downstairs. “Shall we do the kitchens, now?” Kurt asked.

“Hungry?” Dorian asked.

“A little.”

“Well, will we find people there? Will they throw us out?”

“Cook will be making lunch, perhaps. But I do not know if she knows about magic.”

“We shall be quite circumspect.” He flicked his wand and muttered a 'notice me not' spell.

The cook was indeed there, but she was busy with her own concerns. She attempted to send young Kurt away without the snack he was seeking, While he was distracting her, Dorian waved his wand. Rather to his surprise, there were four sparking red flashes. He gestured towards Kurt to try again for a treat, and quickly went to work. Another gesture when he was done and the two of them left the room quietly.

They settled in an alcove halfway up the steps. “First, your reward for a job well done! Do you like sweets?”

“Yes. Well....sometimes.”

“Then chocolate it is. One goes nowhere in the magical world without it, I have learned. Sugar and magic have some sort of connection. Quite hard on poor Klaus, who doesn't have a taste for it.”

“A chocolate frog! I have not had one before, but my friend Franz has told me about them. They have a card of a famous wizard inside!”

“So they do. Whom do you have?”

“Ah. Someone named Elena Cooperheart. I have not heard of her,” he said dubiously.

“Nor have I. Let me see,” Dorian said, reading over the boy's shoulder. “I see. Very brave of her.”

“I could begin a collection. How do I get more?”

“I will send you more cards. There's quite a few of them around the house these days.” While he was talking he was unwrapping the string from the old-fashioned folder he had collected from the back of a drawer in the pantry. Inside there was a thin stack of childish drawings, most of them done in pencil, a few in crayon. Carefully he wrapped them up again and slid them into the velvet bag. Conrad had kept them, no doubt. Dorian thought of the old butler and wondered what had become of him.

He stood up. “Where shall we go next?”

“Could we go into the cellars?” the boy asked eagerly. “There are dungeons. Sort of. At least, there were cells, but they were empty when we got here and mother has turned them into storage, so there are only rows of little box rooms with no windows. Nothing in them but papers.”

“Lead on!”

A wander through the extensive wine cellar produced one lonely bottle of wine. The rest of the first level of the subterranean rooms revealed nothing else until they came to a storeroom which had nothing in the room itself, but did have a loft filled with boxes. Seeing no ladder to reach it, Dorian tossed the youngster up onto the platform and leaped up himself, pulling his body through the opening easily. He noted the admiring glance and grinned back at Kurt, sharing the fun. The spell did not mark anything here as belonging to Klaus, but Dorian was curious.

There was not enough room to stand up, so they sat cross-legged.

“Look,” he said as he knelt by the boy and pointed up into the dark shadows in the corner. “There is a hatch here, in the ceiling. These things can be retrieved from this room by an entry in the floor above. It should be...” Dorian reached into his robe and drew forth a set of simple blueprints. He spread them out on the rough wood platform. “Ah! It comes from the small room just off the smoking room. Quite the little puzzle. Let me take a peek into these boxes, just to satisfy...oh. Dear.”

“What is it?”

Dorian looked askance at him, as he investigated another box. Finally he decided on honesty. “Very bad pornography, dear boy. Of the type that does not personally appeal to me.” That made the boy giggle. “Because there is a market for such things when they are this old, I think they should be preserved. But you are too young, and I do not know if your parents are they type to throw such things out on sight. Which would be foolish. There's enough here to pay for a year at university. I wonder if Klaus ever found this stash? It might explain...or not. At any rate, I do not want anyone to say I introduced you to porn! Might I trust you to leave these items unexplored until much later?”

Kurt nodded, and Dorian looked around again and said. “This could be useful in other ways. If there is ever an emergency, come down this way and then out the stairs to the trade entrance. Always good to have an escape route. To do that, you must discover from the other end how to open the trap and get down. Right now it is locked from the other side, but see this hole? It can be unlocked from this side. I suspect a screwdriver pushed in there would unlock it if nothing obstructs.”

Kurt said, “This is very educational. What is this?” He held up a bundle of rope.

Dorian managed to keep his face serene as he said. “I think it is a rope ladder. One clips it to itself around this rail, and then this, and then one climbs down.”

“Oh,” the boy nodded.

Dorian could practically see the child deciding to learn how to climb ropes. Not that it was a bad thing. But it was definitely time to move on. Dorian leaped down easily, then held out his arms for the young man, who showed more trust than he ought to, perhaps, as he launched himself down. Dorian swung him wide before he set Kurt on the floor, and they both laughed. The sense of adventure held as they crawled into spaces under stairs and checked the rafters. They dislodged a spider or two but found nothing that belonged to Klaus. Dorian cast a spell to draw attention away from the loft. Just in case.

As they were on the bottom level, getting ready to leave, Dorian was side-tracked by a section of plain wall. “This,” he said, “according to the plans I have, should have a door. It's sealed by magic. The door might just be hidden by a spell, or it might have been bricked up for safety reasons. Or perhaps it is something sinister. I want you to go just around the corner and sit with your back to me. I will tell you if you may turn around.”

“Do you suppose there are bodies and secret cells?” Kurt asked, doing as he was told, although it was very dusty.

“Frankly, I hope not. We don 't need the grief, and we're on a timetable here. Let me see....” He began to whisper spells, flicking his wand with casual grace, one leg extended slightly before him, and frowning as he concentrated. Eventually he changed his stance, half prowling back and forth. He stopped. “It is beyond my skills. How very annoying that we don't have the time for it.”

“Do you think his stuff is in there?”

“No, dear, not really. It seems older. Fifty years old, I would say. I just don't like being kept out. Or thwarted.”

“Me, either.”

Dorian took a deep breath and tried one more spell. A door wavered into visibility. “Ah!” Another spell to see if it was safe and then Dorian pushed the door open with his wand. “Oh, come to the doorway and look! A wizard's secret place!” A stack of cauldrons in the corner, cabinets with drawers of ingredients and implements, a work table. A library filled one corner. He automatically flicked his wand and muttered his spell, but nothing here had ever been touch by Klaus, much less belonged to him. “Another thing for you to explore after you have had some wizard's training.” He carefully hid the door again.

Dorian pointed to the stairs and they began to climb. “It is almost time for lunch. I'll go find Klaus and join him—we're having a little picnic by the water. We'll come in later and start in the smaller tower, if you wish to join us.”

“Oh. Yes, I like this. Thank you for showing me all the secret places!”

“And thank you for the company, Kurt darling. Ta!” Dorian eased out the service entrance and held his wand out on his palm. “Point me Klaus” he said softly, and then followed the way out and down to the small lake, where his lover stood on the bank, staring across the water. Dorian reached over and pressed a light kiss to the pale cheek.

“It's harder than you thought?” he asked.

“They are all idiots,” Klaus said, but without real rancor. After all, he had not expected anything else.

“Not all of them, Darling. I have been talking to young Kurt. A lad with definite possibilities.” Dorian was taking out a small packet from his pocket, which he enlarged to reveal a picnic hamper. “Bread, cheese, olives, sausages, beer, water, fruit, and cake. Very simple. A country picnic.” He spread a red cloth and set out the food in easy reach. As he folded himself down to sit on on one edge of the cloth, Klaus lowered himself on the other side. Klaus, he decided, was sitting oddly, so carefully on the blanket. As if he did not want to touch his ancestral earth.

Dorian opened a beer with a mutter and a wave of his wand and then directed it to pour into a glass while both bottle and glass were floating in min-air.

Klaus watched and said, “You are not only a show-off and a fop, but you are becoming lazy.”

“Nonsense, darling, I am working very hard. Practicing my magic at all times, to be ready for anything.”

“If anything is a beer, yes.” Klaus said, but he took the offered beer and swallowed a third of it down in one go.

“What is the most upsetting?” Dorian asked, finding bread and cheese and making a primitive sandwich, which he handed over. He took a peach for himself, and nibbled a hole in the skin before taking an actual bite.

“It does not feel like mine,” Klaus replied. “The land. There is a layer of...something, between myself and... I came here to say good-bye, to get closure, as that idiot friend of yours said. But it is if the land knows, and I know, that the door is already closed.”

“Does that make it easier?” Dorian wanted to know.

“Of course not. It only makes it weirder.”

Dorian nodded. “And sadder?”

Klaus shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly. The beer did not last long, but he waved it away when Dorian asked if he wished for another. He did take an apple, which he devoured to the point that there was almost nothing left. Before them, a duck mother with only two babies paddled close by. When they produced no crusts of bread she soon swam away. Dorian was making a sandwich for himself. Klaus threw the apple core into the lake.

“You did not eat much,” Dorian said after a few minutes.

“Do you want me fat?” Klaus asked, turning his head so that they were looking at each other. He was obviously making an effort to lighten the mood.

“Better than too thin. Magic takes calories, remember.”

Klaus snorted, and took out his cigarette. It was not a real cigarette. Dorian had refused to allow him to take up the habit again. But the ersatz cigarette they had invented as a compromise gave his hands something to do, and while it was a poor substitute in the area of taste, it did produce a glowing tip and realistic smoke. Klaus activated it with a wave of his hand and placed the end in his mouth, the familiar motions comforting. Klaus 'smoked' until Dorian was finished eating.

“I saw you out of the window.” Dorian told him. “You look very good on a horse, especially in your robe. It was like a painting, a page out of history, come to life.”

“There was only one horse, and also a child's pony, in the stables. We had ten horses when I was a boy.”

“As long as you enjoyed the ride.”

“Not much. I checked the stables. Nothing of mine there. Only one gun at the range, and it is broken. Tossed carelessly in a drawer.”

“I picked up several at the house. There has not been a lot to find, really.” Dorian reported. “But I haven't done the family wing, yet.”

“Tell me about this child.” He gestured with his 'cigarette' towards the house.

Dorian was used to conversations with Klaus which often took an abrupt hop to anther subject. “He discovered me almost right away. I hadn't used the notice me not spell, yet,” he confessed. “I went up to see the Man in Purple. It wasn't where I had left him.”

“Did you expect it? After ten years?”

“Of course I did. Silly, I suppose. Actually, there are several pieces not there. Mostly smaller, very portable ones. Which have never been in MY possession. Someone pilfering, I think, who does not have any knowledge of art.” Dorian was packing away the picnic after taking one last beer out. They shared it, passing the glass back and forth. Dorian found it romantic to place his lips on the exact spot from which Klaus had used. Klaus just drank beer and girded himself for the rest of the day's tasks.

Together they made their way back along the path. “He's not a pretty child, although I think he will grow up to be passably good looking. Very smart. He makes up his own mind about things. I invited him for a trip on the zep on his 16th birthday because I want to see how he grows up. I thought you might like to know...about his character.” 'Since he will be living the life you once had' remained unsaid.

“You are not telling him too much?” Klaus asked, ignoring what Dorian was trying to say.

Dorian rolled his eyes but shook his head. “I am, of course, picking his brain. Oh, and corrupting him, too. We found...Klaus, did you know there is an absolutely HUGE collection of vintage pornography in the cellars?”

“Yes.” Klaus shook his 'cigarette' to deactivate it, then tucked it into his pocket.

“Did you ever look at it?”

“Six times. I kept going back to try another box. I could not see the appeal.” It had worried him, at the time.

“Nor I, but it's not just that it it was designed for heterosexual men, or that it came out of culturally repressed times. It's the posed pictures, I think. Modern photography is more able to express motion and emotion. Although some of the subjects seemed extreme. I saw the one with the lady dancing among the goats...”

Klaus snorted. “There is much worse there, I assure you.”

“Then I hope young Kurt takes my advice and leaves it alone for a few years. It should appreciate in value nicely. It was a lovely collection, about a hundred thousand pounds if the other pictures are of the quality and era as the one I looked at.”

Klaus's head swiveled. “Bloody hell,” he said. Proof that he was spending way too much time with Bonham.

“I thought about taking some of it along, but I agreed to keep my hands in my pockets, didn't I? It was just that it is potentially in jeopardy. So many people really do not like to admit that their father or grandfather had such things, and throw it way on sight.” Dorian's grin flashed out. “Do you suppose your father...?

In a flat voice, Klaus said, “I don't want to think about that.”

“Quite understandable.” Dorian smirked. They went in the service entrance and began climbing the stairs. Kurt found them in only a minute, running up to them as they achieved the second floor, his eyes flicking from Dorian to Klaus with a question in his eyes.

“Ah, Kurt! Klaus, may I introduce to your young cousin Kurt?” Kurt stood very tall and shook hands very formally. Klaus sternly inspected the boy and then nodded to him. Kurt seemed fascinated, his eyes flicking from hair to wand as if he did not know which he found more interesting.

“May I ask, sir? About your hair?” The boy seemed quite nervous about asking such a personal question.

“I was struck by lightning,” Klaus said, keeping to the most simple explanation. His hair was an unusual color of grey with darker highlights, and a narrow streak of white in the fringe.

“Isn't the color unique? Just exactly the color of a steel tank!” Dorian was beaming proudly.

“Iron Klaus. My father said you were called Iron Klaus. Is it because of the color of your hair?”

“No. Another story for another day,” Dorian said. They had come to the first room on the family floor. The door was locked, but that was easily dealt with. It was a guest room, without much character, and it looked exactly as Klaus had seen it last. Dorian was doing the spellwork, but at the next room Klaus took over. None of the guest rooms produced anything.

“Our rooms start here,” Kurt said as they turned a corner. “This one is mother and father, and I'm the one beyond that. My brother and sister are across the hall.” He pointed to one room and then the one next to it. “No one is in their rooms. Father and mother are out and the nanny has Klara and Kevin with her. They are buying shoes.”

“Then I do hope you will forgive the intrusion, personally and on behalf of your family. What a good thing you are here. You can assure them that we did not interfere with your possessions,” Dorian said. And indeed, there was nothing to find. The bedrooms seemed a little bland, and Kurt's could definitely benefit from the addition of a few more pieces of furniture, and some pictures on the wall. Soon they were climbing steps to the next floor.

“The only one up on this level is grandfather,” Kurt said as they entered the corridor. “And his nurses. He has a day nurse and a night nurse now.” He had to step aside as Klaus had stopped dead.

“Now, dearest, the new carpet isn't that bad,” Dorian said, knowing full well that the carpet had not been the cause. Although it was much inferior to what had been there before.

Klaus ignored that and said, “My room was there,” he pointed to the left. “I will check that, my mother's rooms, and that of the Graf. If you would please do the others,” he said stiffly.

“Certainly. Come along, Kurt. We still have so many to do!” Dorian urged the boy along. Kurt looked back over his shoulder as they moved past Klaus.

“He looks fierce,” Kurt whispered when they were far enough away.

“It's his way when faced with any hard task. He will speak to the old man. It will be quite awkward, don't you think?”

“What is he going to say?”

“I...do not know. I think we should talk about how best to address the question of the servants if they are in their rooms. How can we check if the rooms are occupied? Do you have any suggestions?” Dorian asked brightly. “I've not yet learned 'obliviate' you know. Frankly, they don't teach it at Hogwarts. They don't go around explaining how to take memories. You must learn it on your own.”

“Did you go to Hogwarts?” Kurt asked, intrigued.

“Klaus and I have a private tutor, provided by Hogwarts. We learned about our wizarding heritage rather late. I do wish I could have gone to school there, it would have been fabulous.”

“I...” Kurt did not finish his sentence.

“Yes?” Dorian said, his soft voice urging confidences.

“I want to go to a wizard school. I do. But...I'm afraid I will not have much magic. Father has some magic with plants, he is very good at growing them. He didn't go to school to learn his magic. He was taught by his mother. He knows all the spells like lumos and accio. He uses his magic, he is a wizard. He is! But it is hard for him and leaves him tired. Magic was why the Graf chose him. But what if...I don't....”

Dorian's large hand settled on his shoulder and he stopped walking, forcing Kurt to stop as well. “You want magic in full measure. You want enough magic that you are not at a disadvantage. You know you have enough drive and intelligence to succeed, but also know that if you do not have the magic to begin with, you might never advance. You are afraid that those with a full measure of magic will mock you or bully you.”

Kurt nodded, looking down at the floor. His nose and eyes were becoming slightly pink as he fought off his emotion.

“Imagine how your grandfather felt, with even less.” Kurt looked up, startled. “How the generation before felt, when magic thinned. It is not just your problem, Kurt. The answer is to do the very best you can, and to make good allies. You mustn't make the mistakes your grandfather has made. He harmed you and your family as well as my darling Klaus, dear. Made your position so very much harder. It will be your job to convince the next generation that 'von dem Eberbach' is not shorthand for ' family murdering lout.' You, dear boy, will be facing a bigger job than you know. If your magic is not enough, you may be the one to formally close the wizarding branch of the family down for good. In which case, I would greatly appreciate having first dibs on the room downstairs. For God's sake don't sell it to some dark wizard such as the one who poisoned Klaus!”

Kurt muffled some words under his breath, the last of which was definitely one of which his mother would not approve. Dorian knelt and swept him into a rose scented embrace. “There, I didn't mean to bring that up just yet. You have years before you're facing the worst of this cesspit your grandfather has thrown us into. Pay no attention to me, I was just letting out my frustration and twittering on about worst case scenarios!”

Kurt rested for a moment against the thick soft cloth under his cheek and then fought his way out of the cloud of yellow curls. “It's okay.”

“Well, it isn't, but Klaus said on our way here that this family deserved to know what they were thrown into, and now I suppose he'll be pleased I spoke. And he and I will help you a little. Perhaps not directly. It's just that Klaus has declared he is no longer a von dem Eberbach, and he says he will NOT be forced into the position of coming back here. He does not want to come back here, ever. A clean break with the past so he can make his own future.” A rejection of all that had been torn from him. A way of avoiding pain.

“If he is not a von dem Eberbach, what is he?” Kurt asked, confused.

“He is Klaus Eisen. He wanted a simple name.”

“Iron Klaus.”

“He will always be Iron Klaus, dear. I asked him if he wanted to add my name, or Gloria, to it. I thought Klaus Eisen of Gloria, or Klaus Eisen Red sounded quite nice, but he snorted at me. He gave me this 'you must be insane' look and muttered something about red iron was rust.”

“I thought you said your name was Dorian.”

“Well, my first name, of course. You and I were the sort stuck with an unwieldy number of names, but you may always call me Dorian. To change the subject, we really must hurry on with our task.” Dorian stood up and waved his wand in the direction of the stairs. They commenced the tour of the staff quarters. It was rather fun, all things considered. Kurt was lookout, and if a staff member approached, Kurt was charged with inventing errands and pretending to have been sent with a message. He was remarkably successful, and began to elaborate upon his tales, until Dorian took him aside and explained to him how best to lie. Dorian swore him to secrecy, first. It was bad enough about the porn, but the lying was something children needed to learn at their own pace. Each lie was a personal decision and too many too fast could derail the development that came with each decision. Children—or men—who lied as a matter of course, were not really good at it and soon lost their credibility. The trick to lying was to keep as close to the truth as possible and not do it very often.

The butler's office yielded unexpected bounty, in that there were old files which filled an entire drawer of a file cabinet. Canceled checks, old invoices, any item with Klaus's signature on it tucked away with the estate files, glowed red with the application of the spell. Even though it took time, Dorian copied all the files one by one, taking the originals and leaving the copies. He then found the key cabinet and liberated six keys.

Finished at last with those rooms, they went along to the corridor off the kitchen where supplies were kept, and worked their way through the refrigerated units and the bulk packaged goods. Replacement parts, the extra light bulbs (which had their own room!) the storage for the mops and waxing machines and cleaning products. Dorian found things which did not belong to Klaus, but were quite of interest none the less. Someone smoked marijuana and hid it in the frozen meats locker. Someone else had a wad of bills wrapped in plastic in the back behind the vegetables. Someone made their own sauerkraut from scratch.

There were rooms with sets of silver and china, with rows of cupboards and shelves. The linens took up two full rooms as well. Dorian picked up one embroidered cloth from a rag bin, but found nothing else.

From there, they approached the massive, more public rooms downstairs, the grand rooms of the house used for entertaining. While Dorian checked walls and hangings in the ballroom, Kurt took off his shoes and spent the time racing across the room in his stockings, sliding for meters until he ran into walls. He confessed he was not permitted to do this usually and Dorian could see why; the clean streaks which resulted showed that the room was not swept on a regular basis. When Dorian pointed this out, the boy ran off for a wide mop and worked quite hard to wipe out the evidence.

They found the smoking room and the small reading room next to it. The door was inside a nook and could not be seen from the center of the room. Only large enough to hold a drinks cabinet, bookcase, a sofa and chair, and two lovely Tiffany lamps, the room was cozy and quiet. They crawled on the floor, discovering how the rug pulled back for access to the well-disguised hatch. The key and and small torch were tucked into their own carved chest, but the batteries in the torch had corroded. Dorian got out his own small light and they peered down into the shadows.

When at last they tore themselves away, Dorian applied himself to searching the adjoining smoking room. He came up only an almost empty cigar box, and a beautiful match jar, over which Dorian cooed for several minutes. The yellow reception room, the ladies parlors, the card room, the three dining rooms which included two huge and formal rooms, and one small one nearest the kitchen which the family used. The sun room, the conservatory, did not take much time as they had been completely redone at some point in the last decade.

The trophy room, however, was exactly as he remembered it. The mounted heads on the wall all looked depressed and un-dusted, the heavy sideboards and dark tables were also showing neglect. The paintings on the walls were quite boring hunting prints and uninspired oils featuring oddly proportioned horses and dogs, all green and brown with flashes of white and red. One of them showed dogs fighting with a huge boar, and another a defeated boar being carried by peasants, who had it slung from large poles. Proud nobles, muskets over their shoulders, rode in front.

No less than three fireplaces graced the walls, one at each end, one on the north wall.

The room contained nothing which had belonged to Klaus, but Dorian found he was tremendously unwilling to leave it.

“What's wrong?” Kurt asked, when they had circled the room three times.

Dorian just shook his curls and frowned. “Help me move this furniture, lad. I wish to look under the carpet.” Most of the pieces were heavy enough to need Dorian to lift it with his wand, while Kurt pushed it gently to the other end of the room. When half the room was empty, Dorian tried to get the carpet to roll itself up and failed miserably, although he laughed at his efforts and did not take it badly. Kurt and he ended up on their knees, rolling it up by hand at first, then using Dorian's magic to push it along.

They uncovered a square of polished wood set into the floor, which, when lifted, revealed, incised into the stone, a design. An elaborately carved border of vines and spears, about a meter on each side, highlighted a plain, flat reddish stone set into the middle.

“What is that?” Kurt asked, whispering.

“That, my darling boy, is the ward stone of this house.” Heedless of the dust, Dorian folded himself onto the floor and studied it. When Kurt reached forward, Dorian snatched out and grabbed his hand. “Careful! These things are very dangerous!” He let go of the boy's hand and leaned forward, “Although this one is practically dead, I fear.”

“But what is it? What does it do?”

“It anchors wards. Wards are protections. Magical protections.” Dorian was whispering, and he scooted back a bit. Even though he had some training now on dealing with wards, he was still dealing with the unhappy result of falling thrall to his own wards. “For this we will have to wait for Klaus. Then, I think this is also one of the items which you should show your father. Does he know this is here?”

“I don't think so.” While he was speaking, Dorian had extended his wand and, quite tentatively, mumbled a few words. The ward stone glowed, quite faintly, for less than a second. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“Just neglect, I fear. Once a generation it should be energized. Rededicated. “ Dorian stood up. “Let us leave this and finish the job I came to do.”

“Just...leave it this way?” Kurt's voice was plaintive. His mother would not be at all happy! In fact, now that he thought about it, his mother would be very unhappy to have a visitor see all this dust and dirt.

“Only for awhile. Come, my sweet! Perhaps further wonders await!” Dorian bounced back to his feet and lead the way. They were almost done, and were reduced to checking guest closets. Last of all, they wandered the hallways, looking for more secret compartments and hidden doors. All they found was a toy car Kurt had lost several months ago, and a hoard of candy in a short and ugly vase which Kurt decided was the treasure of his smaller sister.

Dorian, thinking again of the connection between magic and sugar, wondered if Kurt's siblings also held magic, and how much. It would so lonely to be the only one, and perhaps, dangerous. He was standing there, lost in thought, when he heard a familiar tread on the stairs.

“All done, darling?” he asked as Klaus came into sight.

“It is finished.”

The flat voice worried Dorian a little, but he did not wish to fuss in front of the boy. “Then we have a small problem upon which we would like to ask your advice.” Dorian led the way to the trophy room, and the ward stone. Klaus stood, looking down on it, scowling.

“Dammit,” he said finally. His eyes met Dorian's. The current inhabitants were unprotected with the wards in this state. Neither Klaus or Dorian had any obligations in this matter, and yet.... “I can't,” he said. In this case, he literally could not. “You can't either!”

“Ja, I know.” He said 'Ja' just to see that momentary sparkle in his darling's eyes. It amused them both when bits of their languages became interchangeable. “But I have thought. If Kurt's hand is down first, then mine, then yours?”

“Perhaps. Both his hands?” Klaus looked down at the boy. “Does he have the magic for it?”

“I know he has some.” But was it enough? Dorian sighed. “Perhaps if he did not try to add his magic. Just a neutral element. The magic might just pass through him.” He took a deep breath. “If I can not take my hand away at the right time, you can do it.”

“It could go wrong.”  
“Then I have an idea. Why don't we hire it done?” Dorian grinned, knowing that hearing something so practical coming out of his mouth would amuse Klaus and that later he would be teased about it.

“Okay. Fine.” Klaus nodded firmly. He approved of that. Severus had warned them about the dangers of reaching the point of confidence in one's magic while not knowing enough to keep themselves out of real trouble. He pointed over at the nearest table and said, “I have some things to write down. Ten minutes.”

“We could all use a snack.” Dorian produced a tiny thermos from his pocket and enlarged it. “Hot chocolate?” He considered it proof of the state Klaus was in that he took the cup handed to him and drank it without comment. He even ate one of the small tarts handed round.

Kurt, while making his way through the plate of pastries with the enthusiasm of a growing boy, alternated bites with glances at his cousin's grim face. The man bent over his paper, writing hard and fast, his face showing a touch of anger, and even more exasperation. Outside the window, the sun was going down, and a light rain had started. There was no sound except the scratch of the pen. Kurt knew enough to keep silent when adults were concentrating. His father got terribly crabby if interrupted while doing maths, and would shout spoken to at a vital moment.

At last Klaus finished, went to the writing desk in the corner and pulled out an envelope, into which he placed the folded paper. Turning back, he said to Kurt,” “Give this to your father.” Then he went back to the table, and produced from under his robe a velvet sack, much like the one Dorian had been using, only this one was a dull black. He pulled out a stationery box, and to Kurt's surprise, an umbrella, as well as a handful of objects which he poured from his hand out onto the table. Seeing them, Dorian went searching through his own bag, and produced two pens and a tie clip, which he added to the pile.

Klaus looked at Kurt and said, “These are marked with the initials KHvdE. Your initials. I have no use for these things. I do not want them. You are welcome to have them. If you have no use for them, I will vanish them.”

Kurt looked down, and with one finger he straightened a money clip, and then a black wallet which looked well worn. He looked up into green eyes which were showing no emotion at the moment, and yet.... “Thank you. I would like to have them,” he said politely.

“Good,” Dorian said, and produced another velvet bag, this one also red, into which he placed the items before he handed the bag to Kurt. He looked over at Klaus, and smiled a small, sweet smile. “Then it's time to go, isn't it? Good-bye, young Kurt. We will see each other again when you turn sixteen?”

“I..yes.” The two were walking out and he followed them to the front door, where he stopped. They went down the steps and Klaus took Dorian's arm as they vanished into the the evening's purple and gray. The automatic light at the steps came on at that moment, so he could see them again for another few seconds before they disappeared again. “Good-bye!” he shouted.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Allegiance  
Part Two of three small stories about returning to the Schloss

 

They had left the car in the village, and after fifteen minutes of good, healthy exercise, the sky lightened, and the shapes of the trees emerged from the darkness. The birds began to chirp and call, and the smell of cut grass came with the breeze. He'd broken into the Schloss a dozen times, but this time it took an extra ten minutes. The gates and alarms had been upgraded, not that this was a problem for the retired thief. They were soon moving again.

Dorian said nothing as they made their way up the path, leaving Klaus to his own thoughts. Klaus, who strode beside him, head high, looking out over the grounds, frowning, saying nothing. The dew in the grass began to sparkle as the sun lifted above the horizon. They arrived at the steps of the huge old building and stopped with their back to the door, watching the glorious oranges and pinks spread across the east.

Ten minutes went by before Dorian turned and said, “Your job is the harder. Mine will take the most time. Why don't you check out the situation our here while I get started inside?”

Klaus nodded, and went down the steps again, turning north. Dorian watched for a moment, thrilling, as he always did, at the sight of his darling moving under his own power. And at the sight of that still-magnificent arse. He turned away reluctantly and stood staring at the door for a moment before he pulled out his wand.

“Alohomora” he said crisply, and smiled as the door popped open. It would never get old, having instant access at a word. He stepped in, looking about with curiosity, for it had been almost ten years since he had been inside. The differences were subtle. A child's toy rested against the wall and, and the step could use a good scrub. Nothing was dirty, really, but the place lacked the polish, the sharpness that came with daily care. Closing the door carefully behind him, Dorian began moving towards the stairs. First he wished to visit the copy of the Man in Purple, to see how the painting was holding up. The original had needed some work last year. The damp of England had hot agreed with the poor thing and the professional treatments had taken an entire month.

When he arrived at the gallery, however, he found an inferior landscape in a hideous frame in the place where the Eberbach treasure had hung for so many years. Dorian crossed his arms over his chest and stared hard. Really! It took a moment for him to recover from his tiny little snit. Then he lifted his wand and said firmly. “Accio Gehoren zu Klaus!” A red swirl of dust seemed to flash across the room, but nothing else happened.

Dorian shrugged. He walked along the side of the room, opening each door, locked or not, and muttering the phrase into each room. He had no luck until he came to a small spare office. This time, the drawer of the desk rattled and shook even before he stopped speaking. Upon being opened, the drawer spat out a green pen, which floated across the desk to drop into Dorian's hand. It was one of those small green pens NATO had issued to agents about fifteen years ago. Dorian picked it up and then slid it into a velvet bag that hung from his wrist. His smile was much wider now that the spell had actually worked. He had more confidence in the outcome.

His progress was a little slow, for he stopped to study some of the pictures in the gallery. There was even a small statue he had not seen before. A trite subject done in fine marble, by a practiced hand. It was worth a few moments of his time to study, but not worth acquiring. As he was bending over it trying to determine more about the source of the marble, he heard a sharp young voice from behind him.

“Who are you? “

Dorian turned, and found himself smiling. What a darling, lovely boy! He was standing very straight and frowning fiercely. Dark blue eyes and dark brown hair, but the youngster looked quite as if he were a relative of dear Klaus. Which no doubt he was.

“I am Dorian, dear lad. And you?”

“I am Kurt Heinz von dem Eberbach!” It was said proudly, and each word was a challenge.

“Yes? Then you would be the oldest son of Erik, then?” Dorian asked in a friendly voice. He received a sharp nod in response. “A big lad, for almost eleven,” Dorian said. “Shouldn't you be in school?”

“I have a tutor. Grandfather wishes to oversee our education,” It was said by rote, as if were a sentence he had heard or said a dozen times before.

Dorian smiled and said, “I'm sure.”

Before Dorian could continue the boy said again, “What are you doing in our house? How did you get in?”

There was a long silence as Dorian studied the child, whose lip was out a bit, getting in the way of a determined scowl. Finally, Dorian stretched out his hand, bringing his wand into plain sight.

“Herr Wizard!” Young Kurt was almost shouting, “I want you to tell me! If you should not be here, you should leave.”

“Not until I fetch what I came to get,” Dorian said mildly.

“What do you mean?” The scowl deepened, and the boy took a half step back. “Are you a thief?” He was indignant, but uncertain, his eyes darting towards the door.

“Not at the moment. I am taking things that do not belong to you. Nothing I do not have a right to take, dear boy. It is a very long story. Would you like to hear it?”

This time the silence came from the boy. “Yes,” he said suddenly.

“Let's see,” Dorian said, looking around as if for a chair. Seeing nothing in the immediate vicinity, he folded himself gracefully down to the floor and extended his hand, indicating the young man should sit beside him. Kurt lacked the grace of the older man, and seemed unused to sitting on the floor.

“Do you know how your father became the heir of the Graf?” Dorian asked.

“His son died, and there were no other children, so my father was chosen to be the heir.”

“Just so. But the son did not die,” Dorian said seriously.

“He must have. Otherwise the man would not have had to choose a new heir.” This was said firmly, with the certainty of one who had logic on his side.

“Ah. Well, first, dear heart, I must tell you that if I go ahead with this story I might shatter some illusions you have, and possibly hurt your feelings once or twice. Are you sure you want me to go ahead?”

The boy studied him again. Dorian found it amusing. This lad was not admiring his beauty, which was the usual reason people stared at him. At the moment Dorian, with his hair in a thick braid tucked down inside his black wizard's robe, and his outfit hidden by the same, looked almost severe. Perhaps he even looked dangerous. Dorian smiled charmingly, to look less so.

“You are a wizard,”

“Well, yes. But so are you, are you not?” Dorian tilted his head, studying the boy back. Really, in his dark shirt and pants and his carefully cut and combed hair, he looked more like a miniature adult than a youngster, and all too much like his cousin.

“I think so. You don't really know for sure until you get your letter.” The anxiousness Kurt felt about that letter was reflected in his eyes for a brief moment. “I want to know. Tell me why you're here.”

“Well, it began, strangely enough, with the letter of which you just spoke. A letter which never came for your grandfather, or for his son. This was a huge disappointment for the older man, but not to the son, for the father had never even told his son about the magical world. There was a very good chance, you see, that the letter would never come, because this line of the Eberbach family had only produced squibs and near squibs for several generations, and Klaus had never demonstrated even one tiny bit of magical potential.”

“Grandfather is a squib?” the boy squeaked, horrified.

“A squib who so longed for magic that he tried all he could to get it back for his family. For example, he decided he would not marry a muggle or a squib. He wanted a witch for a wife. But witches were in short supply for him; witches want wizards. He had to use his money and his castle to attract a witch. The one who married him was much older than he, almost too old to have a baby, but he did not know that because she wore a glamour always. I think she married him because wizards wanting children chose younger and prettier wives, and her choices were so severely limited as well. Yet they were well matched and I think, perhaps, they loved each other. She was beautiful to him, you see, and he loved that she had agreed to marry him and give him his dream. She liked being treasured, and she wanted a child as much as he did.

“She became pregnant, when both had almost given up hope. She sustained herself and the child with magic, and kept up her glamour, and thus put an enormous strain on herself and the baby. In fact, we think that, unconsciously, she pulled all the magic from the baby so that they both could live long enough for him to be born. She never really recovered, and died within the year.”

“The baby...he was Klaus Heinz? My father told me about him once. He was a NATO officer. A hero.”

”Oh, so he was. Major von dem Eberbach. He was also the most magnificent man you ever saw! Fierce green eyes, and a strong, powerful body. Black hair, worn longer than he should have been able to wear it as an Army man. A temper like a volcano, and he smoked too much, but he was a soldier, and he did, always did, his duty.” Dorian looked sideways at the boy, who was sitting now with his arms wrapped around his knees as he listened intently. “I fell in love with him the first time I saw him”

The boy's forehead wrinkled and his eyes widened, but he said nothing. It was clear, however, that he found this news unsettling.

“Klaus never gave me a bit of hope, though. You see, he knew that he was expected to have a wife and children. It was so important to his father. The father wanted magical children so very very much. He was unhappy when no letter came, not from Durmstrang, his first choice, or Hogwarts, his second. Not even from Salem College, in the United States, and he was not all fond of the United States – the war, you know – but he would have danced with happiness if they had invited his son to be educated there. But Klaus had never even a hint of magic about him.

“It was the same as before, with his father. Magical women did not want Klaus, who had no magic. Even if they had been willing to overlook the lack of magic for the beauty of his face, his body, for his status as heir, his personality put them off. He was a stern, frowning man who had many responsibilities. He was not very good at courting women. In fact, he was terrible at it. At first, when he began to show an interest in a woman and she happened to be Muggle, his father always managed to discourage the match. The father would introduce him to witches, but all his son's attempts at courting witches were disasters in other ways, as he did not know they were witches. Of course. From the point of view of Klaus, he every time would meet a woman, and think he had caught her interest, abruptly she would drop him. Since he didn't know about his father's manipulation and about the witches, he became confused and frustrated and gave up on trying to find a wife. He concentrated on his career.

“Eventually his father relented. It was a big sacrifice for him, but he decided that it was not so important to have a witch in the family, if only Klaus would only marry someone, anyone! He began to wonder if his son even liked ladies. In fact, he thought Klaus might like men. That was my fault.”

“Your fault?” Kurt asked. He was eying Dorian, who was pulling a long tail of hair out of the back of his robes, taking off the leather tie and shaking out an incredible amount of yellow curls. “Oh.” said Kurt when he caught the whole effect. Dorian smiled warmly at the boy and and watched the Adam's apple bob as the boy swallowed, hard. So nice to know one still had the knack.

“I was fluttering around Klaus every chance I could get, darling. And never once did he give me so much as a glance back. But there I was, and once the old man saw us outside the NATO office, and I was flirting with Klaus, as I always do. Very innocent, but Klaus's father drew his own conclusions. Well, the old man was willing to overlook a lack of magic, apparently, but not That. He was afraid of having no one at all to carry on his name.” Dorian paused in this story to look at the small watch on his wrist. “Oh, dear. Perhaps we had better talk as we go. It's such a big building, isn't it?”

“We have some of it closed off, to save costs,” the boy volunteered as they both stood up. They went out of the room and along the corridor, the child trailing just a little behind. At every door, Dorian would open it, repeat his spell, wait, and move on. Sometimes if there was a rattle from a drawer, or an aura of red around an item, he went in and investigated further, often retrieving a small item. Usually casting the spell from the doorway sufficed, as there was nothing to find.. He was amassing a very large collection of NATO pens, but little else.“What happened next?” Kurt asked as they started down the north stairway.

“When Klaus reached his thirty-fifth birthday, his father made up his mind that Klaus was never going to marry, and he went hunting for a Very Bad Wizard. He found one who could do what was wanted. For a very large fee, of course.” Dorian opened the door to a bathroom that looked like it was seldom used and chanted his spell. This time there was a thump from the cabinet on the wall. The door came open and a rolled elastic bandage flew through the air. Dorian easily caught it and inspected it before shrugging and putting it his velvet bag.

“What happened?”

“The very bad wizard had a potion called Draught of Living Death, and first the nasty bastard knocked the dear Major in the head and then he spelled the potion into his stomach. Then he left him there to bleed onto the carpet, to live or die as he would. Klaus was not found until the next day, by his very worried men. They took him to hospital and the hospital gave him the finest care. But poor Klaus never woke up.”

'Ohhh.” The boy said, and then added, “That was mean. Unsportsmanlike.”

“Exactly so.” They were in an empty room. The spell had brought nothing forth, but Dorian had entered anyway and was soon on his knees behind the door, prying with a small tool he brought from a pocket in his robe. There was a click and a small sliding door became visible as Dorian pulled it open. “Isn't this a sweet little pocket? One pushes this knot, here, do you see?” Dorian demonstrated. Inside were was a stack of bills and some letters. “1937,” Dorian observed as he glanced at the postmark. “You might like to show this hidey hole to your father at some point,” he said, pushing it all back inside and closing the sliding panel. He stood up, brushed the dust from his robe and led the way out.

Turning to Kurt, Dorian said, “That was fun. I love finding secrets, don't you? There are probably others. Many castles have them. You should amuse yourself finding them, on rainy days.”

“Yes sir,” the boy said, automatically. He was looking over his shoulder, no doubt marking which room it was in his mind.

In the next room, which was filled with furniture not currently in use, the spell caused a red halo to settle around a footstool. It was small, with the legs painted black and with an attractive bit of tapestry on top. Dorian shrank it and tucked it into the velvet bag, then saw the boy staring at it and said, “Marvelous wizarding invention, this bag. It holds a great deal more than it should. I so wish I had one of these when I was working.”

“Working?” asked Kurt.

“Oh, yes, In my youth I was an excellent thief. I even worked for NATO several times. Where I met your lovely cousin.”

“Why did you steal things?” Kurt asked.

“Dear heart, one story at a time!” Dorian was striding down the hall again, flicking his wand at every bit of furniture lining the walls. “Although that, too, involves magic. It turns out almost everything does. Magic and relatives,” he laughed.

“But, what happened to Klaus?” the boy asked.

“Our story left Klaus in the hospital, did it not? There he stayed for three months, without coming out of the coma. Then the Graf took him and had him placed in a lovely sanitarium for the rest of the year, and after that, he moved him to a very modest place in Switzerland where such sad cases are housed. A place where they take the hopeless cases to wait to die. He did not say to anyone where Klaus was.”

When they reached the next room, Dorian began again. “It took me forever, darling, to find where my man had been taken, and when I did! I was horrified! He'd lost so much weight. And the room!  
No ventilation, and not even a window. They kept the lights low always. Someone tended to his body in the morning and in the afternoon, and once in the night, and the rest of the time left him as he was. He had bedsores and they had shaved his head! He was wearing one of those hospital robes that don't fit well, split up the back. He would have been terribly upset if he had known. As he could not, I became quite upset in his stead.”

They stopped for another room. In this one the swirling red dust indicated another hidden space, in the wall. After prying up a tile, they found a little wooden box, which Dorian put away in his bag without looking inside. After using a sticking charm to put the tile back in place, Dorian said, “You might want to keep an eye on that and have it properly fixed. It turns out my sticking charms only last a month or two.”

“What did you do?”

“For Klaus? I made the last major heist of my career, dear lad. I took him.”

“Took him?”

“In the dead of night, without leaving a trace. I didn't even leave my card behind. My team and I were away by dawn, and we smuggled him out of the country and over to England. We used the zeppelin. Lovely machine. We still have it. We use it for advertizing at trade shows, and rent it out upon occasion. Would you like to take your friends up? Say for your sixteenth birthday? It's great fun!”

Kurt's eyes went wide again. He nodded cautiously. Dorian whipped out a small notebook, made a note and then slid it into his pocket again.

“We took him to my castle in the dead of night. I had called in doctors, had made a room ready, bought all the doctors said he needed, and I hired nurses and therapists. It took months before poor Klaus was healthy again, but we couldn't get him to wake. We tried music therapy, hypnotism, electroshock—but only mild shocks. I could not bear to hurt my Major more, he was suffering so already. The only thing we ever tried which helped at all was cleaning his blood, and that was accidental. He became sick and the doctor recommended a process to filter out impurities in his blood. I'm not sure it was an improvement; afterward, he would sometimes moan, and twitch a little. He even turned over once on his own! This eventually stopped and he returned to the comatose state he had been enduring for five years. It was so heartbreaking, we really thought he was waking up, that all our effort would be rewarded.”

“He was asleep for five years?” Kurt asked, astonished.

“Almost ten, in the end. We finally found some wizards who understood the problem, and with their help he woke up at last! Thank goodness we had kept up the physical therapy, and...ah. Perhaps I should not make the story too long. It took both potions and wands to make him well.”

Kurt frowned. “Why didn't you try magic before that?”

“Oh, child, another long story! I didn't know about wizards. I thought them just tales.”

“But you're a wizard.”

“I didn't come into my magical inheritance until I was,” he paused, struggled with the truth, but then just said it, “thirty-nine years old.”

“You don't look thirty-nine years old,” the boy told him solemnly.

Dorian, now nearing forty-two, tossed his glorious curls and looked down at the boy from behind one luxurious wave. “You darling! Thank you for saying so!”

Kurt looked distinctly unnerved by this. No doubt he was unused to anyone so utterly gay and fabulous in his vicinity. “So. What happened next.”

“We worked hard to get Klaus to walk again, and eat again, and talk again. And we investigated, of course, what had happened.”

“What grandfather did.”

“You call him grandfather?”

“Mama says he wants us to, so we do.”

Of course. Dorian huffed. “She wants to keep him happy, of course.”

“He IS the head of the house,” the boy explained. “But he is sick now. He spends most of the time in his bed. We don't see him, often. He has nurses, and we must not get in their way.”

“Ah,”

Dorian had entered another room. Mmm! “What lovely old pieces.” The room was given over to the storage of cloth and tapestry. “How sad they are hidden away!” The racks were huge and heavy, and supported both big rugs and small framed works. Automatically, Dorian murmured the spell, and was rather startled to find several small items turn red. One by one he searched them out, inspected each, shrunk it, and shoved it into his velvet sack. “Made by his mother, perhaps,” Dorian suggested as he stared at an embroidered square. He could think of no other way such things would come into Klaus's possession. Or stay there once acquired. Interesting. So items that might belong by right of descent, and were not entailed to the estate, were recognized by the spell? Or did Klaus just not recognize that the items were his? An unappreciated gift?

It wasn't until they had finished that floor and went down the stairs to the next level that Kurt dared prod him for the rest of the story.

“We discovered that not only did the old man hire a wizard to disable his son and steal the rest of his life, and not only had he hidden him away without any attempt to make him comfortable, but he had taken all his son's things. He either threw them out, sold them, or kept them. Klaus's cars, his weapons. Sold the flat and kept the money. Cleared the bank accounts and savings, and directed the stipend for his son's care into the estate bank account. Even after he knew someone had taken his son away.”

“That would be against the law. Grandfather will have to pay the government back.” Kurt was frowning that frown again, the one that looked too old for his little boy face.

“It was morally reprehensible, more to the point.” Even as Eroica he had had SOME moral standards. It wasn't, as the boy had said, sportsmanlike, to steal the last mark from a man in a coma. And the only reason the old goat would have done that is if he were absolutely sure that Klaus would not wake up.

“At any rate, this week our lawyers have asked for the money back. We will probably get it; the old man will want to protect what he can of his reputation. But we could not ask for the items Klaus left behind in the schloss here, we didn't know what was left. We did not want to take anything which did not belong to Klaus by right, so we have this spell, which calls to us everything which Klaus considered his.”

“Oh! That's not really stealing, then, is it?” The boy was smiling now, and it made a good difference in his face.

“I do not think so, no.”

“It's like looking for hidden treasure!” The boy was definitely warming to the entire idea, his eyes were sparkling.

“Yes, and I have only one day to do it, so we must move along now.” They went from room to room more quickly, with Kurt becoming more active in the search as he opened doors, closets, and drawers in furniture, and helped retrieve items found. Dorian, doubtless ruining the young man for life, pointed out weaknesses in the security, hiding places for games or other adventures, and gave a running commentary on the artistic merits of such paintings, statues, and furniture as they came across them.

“Now, this piece is nice,” Dorian said. “Notice this—not veneer at all, all solid wood. With professional restoration it could be worth fifty thousand pounds, assuming no one has been nitwit enough to try...no, the drawers are pristine, very nice. Sinfully heavy, which is why no one has carted it off, no doubt.” And later, “This is a darling desk, Kurt, see if you can have it in your room. There are secret drawers here, and here. Try to open this one...a little harder, keep a light pull...ah! Treasures already here! Italian coins, most of them. This one? Pure gold. Let's try the other one. Ah, needs a key. Your pardon, but I just happen to have just the tool...ah. Well! The jewels in the handle of this letter opener are quite genuine. Hmm. The earrings, too. Sapphires. Not the rest of these, though. Glass, although quite good otherwise. Aren't we having fun?”

“Yes,” said Kurt, hanging over the drawer and poking at the tumble of jewels.

“They're all jumbled like that because they were not secured before moving. You might find out who they belonged to if you can discover what room the desk came from originally. And where it was before that. Now, more steps? Oh, look, a gun room!”

“There are four,” Kurt offered. “Three in the house and one out there, which has the shooting range.” He pointed out the window at a long, low building which had probably once been a stable. On the other side of the building a lone figure on a black horse was following the edge of the lawn, heedful of the effect of hooves on fine grass.

“Three? We will have a job there! Klaus is an excellent shot, you know, and won prizes even before he joined the army” It was indeed, a job. Eight rifles, twelve pistols, eight boxes of ammunition, a cleaning kit, and a large selection of knives went into the velvet sack. It involved climbing, prying up the edges of frames, unfastening straps and unlocking drawers. Dorian, it must be confessed, was showing off just a tiny bit, and enjoying the mild destruction, which he always put back into order with is wand. It was a lovely wand, all gold and white, which Dorian had a habit of holding loosely with two fingers, which drew attention to his hands.

In the adjoining room, the medals that Klaus had won shooting filled an entire box, and there was another box of certificates and papers, and a football trophy, too, all from the schoolboy years. The last two rooms were actually a museum, with antique weapons of all kinds mounted on the wall or in elegant cases. Nothing there actually belonged to Klaus, and for the first time Eroica came to the surface and Dorian had a deep urge to take some of them. The ones the spell circled, lightly pink, indicating they had bee often handled by Klaus, as well as several masterpieces of forged steel that were pieces of art in their own right.

But no.

He turned away. The mementos from the army years must be in another room. If here at all.

When the wing was finished, they went downstairs. “Shall we do the kitchens, now?” Kurt asked.

“Hungry?” Dorian asked.

“A little.”

“Well, will we find people there? Will they throw us out?”

“Cook will be making lunch, perhaps. But I do not know if she knows about magic.”

“We shall be quite circumspect.” He flicked his wand and muttered a 'notice me not' spell.

The cook was indeed there, but she was busy with her own concerns. She attempted to send young Kurt away without the snack he was seeking, While he was distracting her, Dorian waved his wand. Rather to his surprise, there were four sparking red flashes. He gestured towards Kurt to try again for a treat, and quickly went to work. Another gesture when he was done and the two of them left the room quietly.

They settled in an alcove halfway up the steps. “First, your reward for a job well done! Do you like sweets?”

“Yes. Well....sometimes.”

“Then chocolate it is. One goes nowhere in the magical world without it, I have learned. Sugar and magic have some sort of connection. Quite hard on poor Klaus, who doesn't have a taste for it.”

“A chocolate frog! I have not had one before, but my friend Franz has told me about them. They have a card of a famous wizard inside!”

“So they do. Whom do you have?”

“Ah. Someone named Elena Cooperheart. I have not heard of her,” he said dubiously.

“Nor have I. Let me see,” Dorian said, reading over the boy's shoulder. “I see. Very brave of her.”

“I could begin a collection. How do I get more?”

“I will send you more cards. There's quite a few of them around the house these days.” While he was talking he was unwrapping the string from the old-fashioned folder he had collected from the back of a drawer in the pantry. Inside there was a thin stack of childish drawings, most of them done in pencil, a few in crayon. Carefully he wrapped them up again and slid them into the velvet bag. Conrad had kept them, no doubt. Dorian thought of the old butler and wondered what had become of him.

He stood up. “Where shall we go next?”

“Could we go into the cellars?” the boy asked eagerly. “There are dungeons. Sort of. At least, there were cells, but they were empty when we got here and mother has turned them into storage, so there are only rows of little box rooms with no windows. Nothing in them but papers.”

“Lead on!”

A wander through the extensive wine cellar produced one lonely bottle of wine. The rest of the first level of the subterranean rooms revealed nothing else until they came to a storeroom which had nothing in the room itself, but did have a loft filled with boxes. Seeing no ladder to reach it, Dorian tossed the youngster up onto the platform and leaped up himself, pulling his body through the opening easily. He noted the admiring glance and grinned back at Kurt, sharing the fun. The spell did not mark anything here as belonging to Klaus, but Dorian was curious.

There was not enough room to stand up, so they sat cross-legged.

“Look,” he said as he knelt by the boy and pointed up into the dark shadows in the corner. “There is a hatch here, in the ceiling. These things can be retrieved from this room by an entry in the floor above. It should be...” Dorian reached into his robe and drew forth a set of simple blueprints. He spread them out on the rough wood platform. “Ah! It comes from the small room just off the smoking room. Quite the little puzzle. Let me take a peek into these boxes, just to satisfy...oh. Dear.”

“What is it?”

Dorian looked askance at him, as he investigated another box. Finally he decided on honesty. “Very bad pornography, dear boy. Of the type that does not personally appeal to me.” That made the boy giggle. “Because there is a market for such things when they are this old, I think they should be preserved. But you are too young, and I do not know if your parents are they type to throw such things out on sight. Which would be foolish. There's enough here to pay for a year at university. I wonder if Klaus ever found this stash? It might explain...or not. At any rate, I do not want anyone to say I introduced you to porn! Might I trust you to leave these items unexplored until much later?”

Kurt nodded, and Dorian looked around again and said. “This could be useful in other ways. If there is ever an emergency, come down this way and then out the stairs to the trade entrance. Always good to have an escape route. To do that, you must discover from the other end how to open the trap and get down. Right now it is locked from the other side, but see this hole? It can be unlocked from this side. I suspect a screwdriver pushed in there would unlock it if nothing obstructs.”

Kurt said, “This is very educational. What is this?” He held up a bundle of rope.

Dorian managed to keep his face serene as he said. “I think it is a rope ladder. One clips it to itself around this rail, and then this, and then one climbs down.”

“Oh,” the boy nodded.

Dorian could practically see the child deciding to learn how to climb ropes. Not that it was a bad thing. But it was definitely time to move on. Dorian leaped down easily, then held out his arms for the young man, who showed more trust than he ought to, perhaps, as he launched himself down. Dorian swung him wide before he set Kurt on the floor, and they both laughed. The sense of adventure held as they crawled into spaces under stairs and checked the rafters. They dislodged a spider or two but found nothing that belonged to Klaus. Dorian cast a spell to draw attention away from the loft. Just in case.

As they were on the bottom level, getting ready to leave, Dorian was side-tracked by a section of plain wall. “This,” he said, “according to the plans I have, should have a door. It's sealed by magic. The door might just be hidden by a spell, or it might have been bricked up for safety reasons. Or perhaps it is something sinister. I want you to go just around the corner and sit with your back to me. I will tell you if you may turn around.”

“Do you suppose there are bodies and secret cells?” Kurt asked, doing as he was told, although it was very dusty.

“Frankly, I hope not. We don 't need the grief, and we're on a timetable here. Let me see....” He began to whisper spells, flicking his wand with casual grace, one leg extended slightly before him, and frowning as he concentrated. Eventually he changed his stance, half prowling back and forth. He stopped. “It is beyond my skills. How very annoying that we don't have the time for it.”

“Do you think his stuff is in there?”

“No, dear, not really. It seems older. Fifty years old, I would say. I just don't like being kept out. Or thwarted.”

“Me, either.”

Dorian took a deep breath and tried one more spell. A door wavered into visibility. “Ah!” Another spell to see if it was safe and then Dorian pushed the door open with his wand. “Oh, come to the doorway and look! A wizard's secret place!” A stack of cauldrons in the corner, cabinets with drawers of ingredients and implements, a work table. A library filled one corner. He automatically flicked his wand and muttered his spell, but nothing here had ever been touch by Klaus, much less belonged to him. “Another thing for you to explore after you have had some wizard's training.” He carefully hid the door again.

Dorian pointed to the stairs and they began to climb. “It is almost time for lunch. I'll go find Klaus and join him—we're having a little picnic by the water. We'll come in later and start in the smaller tower, if you wish to join us.”

“Oh. Yes, I like this. Thank you for showing me all the secret places!”

“And thank you for the company, Kurt darling. Ta!” Dorian eased out the service entrance and held his wand out on his palm. “Point me Klaus” he said softly, and then followed the way out and down to the small lake, where his lover stood on the bank, staring across the water. Dorian reached over and pressed a light kiss to the pale cheek.

“It's harder than you thought?” he asked.

“They are all idiots,” Klaus said, but without real rancor. After all, he had not expected anything else.

“Not all of them, Darling. I have been talking to young Kurt. A lad with definite possibilities.” Dorian was taking out a small packet from his pocket, which he enlarged to reveal a picnic hamper. “Bread, cheese, olives, sausages, beer, water, fruit, and cake. Very simple. A country picnic.” He spread a red cloth and set out the food in easy reach. As he folded himself down to sit on on one edge of the cloth, Klaus lowered himself on the other side. Klaus, he decided, was sitting oddly, so carefully on the blanket. As if he did not want to touch his ancestral earth.

Dorian opened a beer with a mutter and a wave of his wand and then directed it to pour into a glass while both bottle and glass were floating in min-air.

Klaus watched and said, “You are not only a show-off and a fop, but you are becoming lazy.”

“Nonsense, darling, I am working very hard. Practicing my magic at all times, to be ready for anything.”

“If anything is a beer, yes.” Klaus said, but he took the offered beer and swallowed a third of it down in one go.

“What is the most upsetting?” Dorian asked, finding bread and cheese and making a primitive sandwich, which he handed over. He took a peach for himself, and nibbled a hole in the skin before taking an actual bite.

“It does not feel like mine,” Klaus replied. “The land. There is a layer of...something, between myself and... I came here to say good-bye, to get closure, as that idiot friend of yours said. But it is if the land knows, and I know, that the door is already closed.”

“Does that make it easier?” Dorian wanted to know.

“Of course not. It only makes it weirder.”

Dorian nodded. “And sadder?”

Klaus shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly. The beer did not last long, but he waved it away when Dorian asked if he wished for another. He did take an apple, which he devoured to the point that there was almost nothing left. Before them, a duck mother with only two babies paddled close by. When they produced no crusts of bread she soon swam away. Dorian was making a sandwich for himself. Klaus threw the apple core into the lake.

“You did not eat much,” Dorian said after a few minutes.

“Do you want me fat?” Klaus asked, turning his head so that they were looking at each other. He was obviously making an effort to lighten the mood.

“Better than too thin. Magic takes calories, remember.”

Klaus snorted, and took out his cigarette. It was not a real cigarette. Dorian had refused to allow him to take up the habit again. But the ersatz cigarette they had invented as a compromise gave his hands something to do, and while it was a poor substitute in the area of taste, it did produce a glowing tip and realistic smoke. Klaus activated it with a wave of his hand and placed the end in his mouth, the familiar motions comforting. Klaus 'smoked' until Dorian was finished eating.

“I saw you out of the window.” Dorian told him. “You look very good on a horse, especially in your robe. It was like a painting, a page out of history, come to life.”

“There was only one horse, and also a child's pony, in the stables. We had ten horses when I was a boy.”

“As long as you enjoyed the ride.”

“Not much. I checked the stables. Nothing of mine there. Only one gun at the range, and it is broken. Tossed carelessly in a drawer.”

“I picked up several at the house. There has not been a lot to find, really.” Dorian reported. “But I haven't done the family wing, yet.”

“Tell me about this child.” He gestured with his 'cigarette' towards the house.

Dorian was used to conversations with Klaus which often took an abrupt hop to anther subject. “He discovered me almost right away. I hadn't used the notice me not spell, yet,” he confessed. “I went up to see the Man in Purple. It wasn't where I had left him.”

“Did you expect it? After ten years?”

“Of course I did. Silly, I suppose. Actually, there are several pieces not there. Mostly smaller, very portable ones. Which have never been in MY possession. Someone pilfering, I think, who does not have any knowledge of art.” Dorian was packing away the picnic after taking one last beer out. They shared it, passing the glass back and forth. Dorian found it romantic to place his lips on the exact spot from which Klaus had used. Klaus just drank beer and girded himself for the rest of the day's tasks.

Together they made their way back along the path. “He's not a pretty child, although I think he will grow up to be passably good looking. Very smart. He makes up his own mind about things. I invited him for a trip on the zep on his 16th birthday because I want to see how he grows up. I thought you might like to know...about his character.” 'Since he will be living the life you once had' remained unsaid.

“You are not telling him too much?” Klaus asked, ignoring what Dorian was trying to say.

Dorian rolled his eyes but shook his head. “I am, of course, picking his brain. Oh, and corrupting him, too. We found...Klaus, did you know there is an absolutely HUGE collection of vintage pornography in the cellars?”

“Yes.” Klaus shook his 'cigarette' to deactivate it, then tucked it into his pocket.

“Did you ever look at it?”

“Six times. I kept going back to try another box. I could not see the appeal.” It had worried him, at the time.

“Nor I, but it's not just that it it was designed for heterosexual men, or that it came out of culturally repressed times. It's the posed pictures, I think. Modern photography is more able to express motion and emotion. Although some of the subjects seemed extreme. I saw the one with the lady dancing among the goats...”

Klaus snorted. “There is much worse there, I assure you.”

“Then I hope young Kurt takes my advice and leaves it alone for a few years. It should appreciate in value nicely. It was a lovely collection, about a hundred thousand pounds if the other pictures are of the quality and era as the one I looked at.”

Klaus's head swiveled. “Bloody hell,” he said. Proof that he was spending way too much time with Bonham.

“I thought about taking some of it along, but I agreed to keep my hands in my pockets, didn't I? It was just that it is potentially in jeopardy. So many people really do not like to admit that their father or grandfather had such things, and throw it way on sight.” Dorian's grin flashed out. “Do you suppose your father...?

In a flat voice, Klaus said, “I don't want to think about that.”

“Quite understandable.” Dorian smirked. They went in the service entrance and began climbing the stairs. Kurt found them in only a minute, running up to them as they achieved the second floor, his eyes flicking from Dorian to Klaus with a question in his eyes.

“Ah, Kurt! Klaus, may I introduce to your young cousin Kurt?” Kurt stood very tall and shook hands very formally. Klaus sternly inspected the boy and then nodded to him. Kurt seemed fascinated, his eyes flicking from hair to wand as if he did not know which he found more interesting.

“May I ask, sir? About your hair?” The boy seemed quite nervous about asking such a personal question.

“I was struck by lightning,” Klaus said, keeping to the most simple explanation. His hair was an unusual color of grey with darker highlights, and a narrow streak of white in the fringe.

“Isn't the color unique? Just exactly the color of a steel tank!” Dorian was beaming proudly.

“Iron Klaus. My father said you were called Iron Klaus. Is it because of the color of your hair?”

“No. Another story for another day,” Dorian said. They had come to the first room on the family floor. The door was locked, but that was easily dealt with. It was a guest room, without much character, and it looked exactly as Klaus had seen it last. Dorian was doing the spellwork, but at the next room Klaus took over. None of the guest rooms produced anything.

“Our rooms start here,” Kurt said as they turned a corner. “This one is mother and father, and I'm the one beyond that. My brother and sister are across the hall.” He pointed to one room and then the one next to it. “No one is in their rooms. Father and mother are out and the nanny has Klara and Kevin with her. They are buying shoes.”

“Then I do hope you will forgive the intrusion, personally and on behalf of your family. What a good thing you are here. You can assure them that we did not interfere with your possessions,” Dorian said. And indeed, there was nothing to find. The bedrooms seemed a little bland, and Kurt's could definitely benefit from the addition of a few more pieces of furniture, and some pictures on the wall. Soon they were climbing steps to the next floor.

“The only one up on this level is grandfather,” Kurt said as they entered the corridor. “And his nurses. He has a day nurse and a night nurse now.” He had to step aside as Klaus had stopped dead.

“Now, dearest, the new carpet isn't that bad,” Dorian said, knowing full well that the carpet had not been the cause. Although it was much inferior to what had been there before.

Klaus ignored that and said, “My room was there,” he pointed to the left. “I will check that, my mother's rooms, and that of the Graf. If you would please do the others,” he said stiffly.

“Certainly. Come along, Kurt. We still have so many to do!” Dorian urged the boy along. Kurt looked back over his shoulder as they moved past Klaus.

“He looks fierce,” Kurt whispered when they were far enough away.

“It's his way when faced with any hard task. He will speak to the old man. It will be quite awkward, don't you think?”

“What is he going to say?”

“I...do not know. I think we should talk about how best to address the question of the servants if they are in their rooms. How can we check if the rooms are occupied? Do you have any suggestions?” Dorian asked brightly. “I've not yet learned 'obliviate' you know. Frankly, they don't teach it at Hogwarts. They don't go around explaining how to take memories. You must learn it on your own.”

“Did you go to Hogwarts?” Kurt asked, intrigued.

“Klaus and I have a private tutor, provided by Hogwarts. We learned about our wizarding heritage rather late. I do wish I could have gone to school there, it would have been fabulous.”

“I...” Kurt did not finish his sentence.

“Yes?” Dorian said, his soft voice urging confidences.

“I want to go to a wizard school. I do. But...I'm afraid I will not have much magic. Father has some magic with plants, he is very good at growing them. He didn't go to school to learn his magic. He was taught by his mother. He knows all the spells like lumos and accio. He uses his magic, he is a wizard. He is! But it is hard for him and leaves him tired. Magic was why the Graf chose him. But what if...I don't....”

Dorian's large hand settled on his shoulder and he stopped walking, forcing Kurt to stop as well. “You want magic in full measure. You want enough magic that you are not at a disadvantage. You know you have enough drive and intelligence to succeed, but also know that if you do not have the magic to begin with, you might never advance. You are afraid that those with a full measure of magic will mock you or bully you.”

Kurt nodded, looking down at the floor. His nose and eyes were becoming slightly pink as he fought off his emotion.

“Imagine how your grandfather felt, with even less.” Kurt looked up, startled. “How the generation before felt, when magic thinned. It is not just your problem, Kurt. The answer is to do the very best you can, and to make good allies. You mustn't make the mistakes your grandfather has made. He harmed you and your family as well as my darling Klaus, dear. Made your position so very much harder. It will be your job to convince the next generation that 'von dem Eberbach' is not shorthand for ' family murdering lout.' You, dear boy, will be facing a bigger job than you know. If your magic is not enough, you may be the one to formally close the wizarding branch of the family down for good. In which case, I would greatly appreciate having first dibs on the room downstairs. For God's sake don't sell it to some dark wizard such as the one who poisoned Klaus!”

Kurt muffled some words under his breath, the last of which was definitely one of which his mother would not approve. Dorian knelt and swept him into a rose scented embrace. “There, I didn't mean to bring that up just yet. You have years before you're facing the worst of this cesspit your grandfather has thrown us into. Pay no attention to me, I was just letting out my frustration and twittering on about worst case scenarios!”

Kurt rested for a moment against the thick soft cloth under his cheek and then fought his way out of the cloud of yellow curls. “It's okay.”

“Well, it isn't, but Klaus said on our way here that this family deserved to know what they were thrown into, and now I suppose he'll be pleased I spoke. And he and I will help you a little. Perhaps not directly. It's just that Klaus has declared he is no longer a von dem Eberbach, and he says he will NOT be forced into the position of coming back here. He does not want to come back here, ever. A clean break with the past so he can make his own future.” A rejection of all that had been torn from him. A way of avoiding pain.

“If he is not a von dem Eberbach, what is he?” Kurt asked, confused.

“He is Klaus Eisen. He wanted a simple name.”

“Iron Klaus.”

“He will always be Iron Klaus, dear. I asked him if he wanted to add my name, or Gloria, to it. I thought Klaus Eisen of Gloria, or Klaus Eisen Red sounded quite nice, but he snorted at me. He gave me this 'you must be insane' look and muttered something about red iron was rust.”

“I thought you said your name was Dorian.”

“Well, my first name, of course. You and I were the sort stuck with an unwieldy number of names, but you may always call me Dorian. To change the subject, we really must hurry on with our task.” Dorian stood up and waved his wand in the direction of the stairs. They commenced the tour of the staff quarters. It was rather fun, all things considered. Kurt was lookout, and if a staff member approached, Kurt was charged with inventing errands and pretending to have been sent with a message. He was remarkably successful, and began to elaborate upon his tales, until Dorian took him aside and explained to him how best to lie. Dorian swore him to secrecy, first. It was bad enough about the porn, but the lying was something children needed to learn at their own pace. Each lie was a personal decision and too many too fast could derail the development that came with each decision. Children—or men—who lied as a matter of course, were not really good at it and soon lost their credibility. The trick to lying was to keep as close to the truth as possible and not do it very often.

The butler's office yielded unexpected bounty, in that there were old files which filled an entire drawer of a file cabinet. Canceled checks, old invoices, any item with Klaus's signature on it tucked away with the estate files, glowed red with the application of the spell. Even though it took time, Dorian copied all the files one by one, taking the originals and leaving the copies. He then found the key cabinet and liberated six keys.

Finished at last with those rooms, they went along to the corridor off the kitchen where supplies were kept, and worked their way through the refrigerated units and the bulk packaged goods. Replacement parts, the extra light bulbs (which had their own room!) the storage for the mops and waxing machines and cleaning products. Dorian found things which did not belong to Klaus, but were quite of interest none the less. Someone smoked marijuana and hid it in the frozen meats locker. Someone else had a wad of bills wrapped in plastic in the back behind the vegetables. Someone made their own sauerkraut from scratch.

There were rooms with sets of silver and china, with rows of cupboards and shelves. The linens took up two full rooms as well. Dorian picked up one embroidered cloth from a rag bin, but found nothing else.

From there, they approached the massive, more public rooms downstairs, the grand rooms of the house used for entertaining. While Dorian checked walls and hangings in the ballroom, Kurt took off his shoes and spent the time racing across the room in his stockings, sliding for meters until he ran into walls. He confessed he was not permitted to do this usually and Dorian could see why; the clean streaks which resulted showed that the room was not swept on a regular basis. When Dorian pointed this out, the boy ran off for a wide mop and worked quite hard to wipe out the evidence.

They found the smoking room and the small reading room next to it. The door was inside a nook and could not be seen from the center of the room. Only large enough to hold a drinks cabinet, bookcase, a sofa and chair, and two lovely Tiffany lamps, the room was cozy and quiet. They crawled on the floor, discovering how the rug pulled back for access to the well-disguised hatch. The key and and small torch were tucked into their own carved chest, but the batteries in the torch had corroded. Dorian got out his own small light and they peered down into the shadows.

When at last they tore themselves away, Dorian applied himself to searching the adjoining smoking room. He came up only an almost empty cigar box, and a beautiful match jar, over which Dorian cooed for several minutes. The yellow reception room, the ladies parlors, the card room, the three dining rooms which included two huge and formal rooms, and one small one nearest the kitchen which the family used. The sun room, the conservatory, did not take much time as they had been completely redone at some point in the last decade.

The trophy room, however, was exactly as he remembered it. The mounted heads on the wall all looked depressed and un-dusted, the heavy sideboards and dark tables were also showing neglect. The paintings on the walls were quite boring hunting prints and uninspired oils featuring oddly proportioned horses and dogs, all green and brown with flashes of white and red. One of them showed dogs fighting with a huge boar, and another a defeated boar being carried by peasants, who had it slung from large poles. Proud nobles, muskets over their shoulders, rode in front.

No less than three fireplaces graced the walls, one at each end, one on the north wall.

The room contained nothing which had belonged to Klaus, but Dorian found he was tremendously unwilling to leave it.

“What's wrong?” Kurt asked, when they had circled the room three times.

Dorian just shook his curls and frowned. “Help me move this furniture, lad. I wish to look under the carpet.” Most of the pieces were heavy enough to need Dorian to lift it with his wand, while Kurt pushed it gently to the other end of the room. When half the room was empty, Dorian tried to get the carpet to roll itself up and failed miserably, although he laughed at his efforts and did not take it badly. Kurt and he ended up on their knees, rolling it up by hand at first, then using Dorian's magic to push it along.

They uncovered a square of polished wood set into the floor, which, when lifted, revealed, incised into the stone, a design. An elaborately carved border of vines and spears, about a meter on each side, highlighted a plain, flat reddish stone set into the middle.

“What is that?” Kurt asked, whispering.

“That, my darling boy, is the ward stone of this house.” Heedless of the dust, Dorian folded himself onto the floor and studied it. When Kurt reached forward, Dorian snatched out and grabbed his hand. “Careful! These things are very dangerous!” He let go of the boy's hand and leaned forward, “Although this one is practically dead, I fear.”

“But what is it? What does it do?”

“It anchors wards. Wards are protections. Magical protections.” Dorian was whispering, and he scooted back a bit. Even though he had some training now on dealing with wards, he was still dealing with the unhappy result of falling thrall to his own wards. “For this we will have to wait for Klaus. Then, I think this is also one of the items which you should show your father. Does he know this is here?”

“I don't think so.” While he was speaking, Dorian had extended his wand and, quite tentatively, mumbled a few words. The ward stone glowed, quite faintly, for less than a second. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“Just neglect, I fear. Once a generation it should be energized. Rededicated. “ Dorian stood up. “Let us leave this and finish the job I came to do.”

“Just...leave it this way?” Kurt's voice was plaintive. His mother would not be at all happy! In fact, now that he thought about it, his mother would be very unhappy to have a visitor see all this dust and dirt.

“Only for awhile. Come, my sweet! Perhaps further wonders await!” Dorian bounced back to his feet and lead the way. They were almost done, and were reduced to checking guest closets. Last of all, they wandered the hallways, looking for more secret compartments and hidden doors. All they found was a toy car Kurt had lost several months ago, and a hoard of candy in a short and ugly vase which Kurt decided was the treasure of his smaller sister.

Dorian, thinking again of the connection between magic and sugar, wondered if Kurt's siblings also held magic, and how much. It would so lonely to be the only one, and perhaps, dangerous. He was standing there, lost in thought, when he heard a familiar tread on the stairs.

“All done, darling?” he asked as Klaus came into sight.

“It is finished.”

The flat voice worried Dorian a little, but he did not wish to fuss in front of the boy. “Then we have a small problem upon which we would like to ask your advice.” Dorian led the way to the trophy room, and the ward stone. Klaus stood, looking down on it, scowling.

“Dammit,” he said finally. His eyes met Dorian's. The current inhabitants were unprotected with the wards in this state. Neither Klaus or Dorian had any obligations in this matter, and yet.... “I can't,” he said. In this case, he literally could not. “You can't either!”

“Ja, I know.” He said 'Ja' just to see that momentary sparkle in his darling's eyes. It amused them both when bits of their languages became interchangeable. “But I have thought. If Kurt's hand is down first, then mine, then yours?”

“Perhaps. Both his hands?” Klaus looked down at the boy. “Does he have the magic for it?”

“I know he has some.” But was it enough? Dorian sighed. “Perhaps if he did not try to add his magic. Just a neutral element. The magic might just pass through him.” He took a deep breath. “If I can not take my hand away at the right time, you can do it.”

“It could go wrong.”  
“Then I have an idea. Why don't we hire it done?” Dorian grinned, knowing that hearing something so practical coming out of his mouth would amuse Klaus and that later he would be teased about it.

“Okay. Fine.” Klaus nodded firmly. He approved of that. Severus had warned them about the dangers of reaching the point of confidence in one's magic while not knowing enough to keep themselves out of real trouble. He pointed over at the nearest table and said, “I have some things to write down. Ten minutes.”

“We could all use a snack.” Dorian produced a tiny thermos from his pocket and enlarged it. “Hot chocolate?” He considered it proof of the state Klaus was in that he took the cup handed to him and drank it without comment. He even ate one of the small tarts handed round.

Kurt, while making his way through the plate of pastries with the enthusiasm of a growing boy, alternated bites with glances at his cousin's grim face. The man bent over his paper, writing hard and fast, his face showing a touch of anger, and even more exasperation. Outside the window, the sun was going down, and a light rain had started. There was no sound except the scratch of the pen. Kurt knew enough to keep silent when adults were concentrating. His father got terribly crabby if interrupted while doing maths, and would shout spoken to at a vital moment.

At last Klaus finished, went to the writing desk in the corner and pulled out an envelope, into which he placed the folded paper. Turning back, he said to Kurt,” “Give this to your father.” Then he went back to the table, and produced from under his robe a velvet sack, much like the one Dorian had been using, only this one was a dull black. He pulled out a stationery box, and to Kurt's surprise, an umbrella, as well as a handful of objects which he poured from his hand out onto the table. Seeing them, Dorian went searching through his own bag, and produced two pens and a tie clip, which he added to the pile.

Klaus looked at Kurt and said, “These are marked with the initials KHvdE. Your initials. I have no use for these things. I do not want them. You are welcome to have them. If you have no use for them, I will vanish them.”

Kurt looked down, and with one finger he straightened a money clip, and then a black wallet which looked well worn. He looked up into green eyes which were showing no emotion at the moment, and yet.... “Thank you. I would like to have them,” he said politely.

“Good,” Dorian said, and produced another velvet bag, this one also red, into which he placed the items before he handed the bag to Kurt. He looked over at Klaus, and smiled a small, sweet smile. “Then it's time to go, isn't it? Good-bye, young Kurt. We will see each other again when you turn sixteen?”

“I..yes.” The two were walking out and he followed them to the front door, where he stopped. They went down the steps and Klaus took Dorian's arm as they vanished into the the evening's purple and gray. The automatic light at the steps came on at that moment, so he could see them again for another few seconds before they disappeared again. “Good-bye!” he shouted.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Allegiance  
Part Two of three small stories about returning to the Schloss

 

They had left the car in the village, and after fifteen minutes of good, healthy exercise, the sky lightened, and the shapes of the trees emerged from the darkness. The birds began to chirp and call, and the smell of cut grass came with the breeze. He'd broken into the Schloss a dozen times, but this time it took an extra ten minutes. The gates and alarms had been upgraded, not that this was a problem for the retired thief. They were soon moving again.

Dorian said nothing as they made their way up the path, leaving Klaus to his own thoughts. Klaus, who strode beside him, head high, looking out over the grounds, frowning, saying nothing. The dew in the grass began to sparkle as the sun lifted above the horizon. They arrived at the steps of the huge old building and stopped with their back to the door, watching the glorious oranges and pinks spread across the east.

Ten minutes went by before Dorian turned and said, “Your job is the harder. Mine will take the most time. Why don't you check out the situation our here while I get started inside?”

Klaus nodded, and went down the steps again, turning north. Dorian watched for a moment, thrilling, as he always did, at the sight of his darling moving under his own power. And at the sight of that still-magnificent arse. He turned away reluctantly and stood staring at the door for a moment before he pulled out his wand.

“Alohomora” he said crisply, and smiled as the door popped open. It would never get old, having instant access at a word. He stepped in, looking about with curiosity, for it had been almost ten years since he had been inside. The differences were subtle. A child's toy rested against the wall and, and the step could use a good scrub. Nothing was dirty, really, but the place lacked the polish, the sharpness that came with daily care. Closing the door carefully behind him, Dorian began moving towards the stairs. First he wished to visit the copy of the Man in Purple, to see how the painting was holding up. The original had needed some work last year. The damp of England had hot agreed with the poor thing and the professional treatments had taken an entire month.

When he arrived at the gallery, however, he found an inferior landscape in a hideous frame in the place where the Eberbach treasure had hung for so many years. Dorian crossed his arms over his chest and stared hard. Really! It took a moment for him to recover from his tiny little snit. Then he lifted his wand and said firmly. “Accio Gehoren zu Klaus!” A red swirl of dust seemed to flash across the room, but nothing else happened.

Dorian shrugged. He walked along the side of the room, opening each door, locked or not, and muttering the phrase into each room. He had no luck until he came to a small spare office. This time, the drawer of the desk rattled and shook even before he stopped speaking. Upon being opened, the drawer spat out a green pen, which floated across the desk to drop into Dorian's hand. It was one of those small green pens NATO had issued to agents about fifteen years ago. Dorian picked it up and then slid it into a velvet bag that hung from his wrist. His smile was much wider now that the spell had actually worked. He had more confidence in the outcome.

His progress was a little slow, for he stopped to study some of the pictures in the gallery. There was even a small statue he had not seen before. A trite subject done in fine marble, by a practiced hand. It was worth a few moments of his time to study, but not worth acquiring. As he was bending over it trying to determine more about the source of the marble, he heard a sharp young voice from behind him.

“Who are you? “

Dorian turned, and found himself smiling. What a darling, lovely boy! He was standing very straight and frowning fiercely. Dark blue eyes and dark brown hair, but the youngster looked quite as if he were a relative of dear Klaus. Which no doubt he was.

“I am Dorian, dear lad. And you?”

“I am Kurt Heinz von dem Eberbach!” It was said proudly, and each word was a challenge.

“Yes? Then you would be the oldest son of Erik, then?” Dorian asked in a friendly voice. He received a sharp nod in response. “A big lad, for almost eleven,” Dorian said. “Shouldn't you be in school?”

“I have a tutor. Grandfather wishes to oversee our education,” It was said by rote, as if were a sentence he had heard or said a dozen times before.

Dorian smiled and said, “I'm sure.”

Before Dorian could continue the boy said again, “What are you doing in our house? How did you get in?”

There was a long silence as Dorian studied the child, whose lip was out a bit, getting in the way of a determined scowl. Finally, Dorian stretched out his hand, bringing his wand into plain sight.

“Herr Wizard!” Young Kurt was almost shouting, “I want you to tell me! If you should not be here, you should leave.”

“Not until I fetch what I came to get,” Dorian said mildly.

“What do you mean?” The scowl deepened, and the boy took a half step back. “Are you a thief?” He was indignant, but uncertain, his eyes darting towards the door.

“Not at the moment. I am taking things that do not belong to you. Nothing I do not have a right to take, dear boy. It is a very long story. Would you like to hear it?”

This time the silence came from the boy. “Yes,” he said suddenly.

“Let's see,” Dorian said, looking around as if for a chair. Seeing nothing in the immediate vicinity, he folded himself gracefully down to the floor and extended his hand, indicating the young man should sit beside him. Kurt lacked the grace of the older man, and seemed unused to sitting on the floor.

“Do you know how your father became the heir of the Graf?” Dorian asked.

“His son died, and there were no other children, so my father was chosen to be the heir.”

“Just so. But the son did not die,” Dorian said seriously.

“He must have. Otherwise the man would not have had to choose a new heir.” This was said firmly, with the certainty of one who had logic on his side.

“Ah. Well, first, dear heart, I must tell you that if I go ahead with this story I might shatter some illusions you have, and possibly hurt your feelings once or twice. Are you sure you want me to go ahead?”

The boy studied him again. Dorian found it amusing. This lad was not admiring his beauty, which was the usual reason people stared at him. At the moment Dorian, with his hair in a thick braid tucked down inside his black wizard's robe, and his outfit hidden by the same, looked almost severe. Perhaps he even looked dangerous. Dorian smiled charmingly, to look less so.

“You are a wizard,”

“Well, yes. But so are you, are you not?” Dorian tilted his head, studying the boy back. Really, in his dark shirt and pants and his carefully cut and combed hair, he looked more like a miniature adult than a youngster, and all too much like his cousin.

“I think so. You don't really know for sure until you get your letter.” The anxiousness Kurt felt about that letter was reflected in his eyes for a brief moment. “I want to know. Tell me why you're here.”

“Well, it began, strangely enough, with the letter of which you just spoke. A letter which never came for your grandfather, or for his son. This was a huge disappointment for the older man, but not to the son, for the father had never even told his son about the magical world. There was a very good chance, you see, that the letter would never come, because this line of the Eberbach family had only produced squibs and near squibs for several generations, and Klaus had never demonstrated even one tiny bit of magical potential.”

“Grandfather is a squib?” the boy squeaked, horrified.

“A squib who so longed for magic that he tried all he could to get it back for his family. For example, he decided he would not marry a muggle or a squib. He wanted a witch for a wife. But witches were in short supply for him; witches want wizards. He had to use his money and his castle to attract a witch. The one who married him was much older than he, almost too old to have a baby, but he did not know that because she wore a glamour always. I think she married him because wizards wanting children chose younger and prettier wives, and her choices were so severely limited as well. Yet they were well matched and I think, perhaps, they loved each other. She was beautiful to him, you see, and he loved that she had agreed to marry him and give him his dream. She liked being treasured, and she wanted a child as much as he did.

“She became pregnant, when both had almost given up hope. She sustained herself and the child with magic, and kept up her glamour, and thus put an enormous strain on herself and the baby. In fact, we think that, unconsciously, she pulled all the magic from the baby so that they both could live long enough for him to be born. She never really recovered, and died within the year.”

“The baby...he was Klaus Heinz? My father told me about him once. He was a NATO officer. A hero.”

”Oh, so he was. Major von dem Eberbach. He was also the most magnificent man you ever saw! Fierce green eyes, and a strong, powerful body. Black hair, worn longer than he should have been able to wear it as an Army man. A temper like a volcano, and he smoked too much, but he was a soldier, and he did, always did, his duty.” Dorian looked sideways at the boy, who was sitting now with his arms wrapped around his knees as he listened intently. “I fell in love with him the first time I saw him”

The boy's forehead wrinkled and his eyes widened, but he said nothing. It was clear, however, that he found this news unsettling.

“Klaus never gave me a bit of hope, though. You see, he knew that he was expected to have a wife and children. It was so important to his father. The father wanted magical children so very very much. He was unhappy when no letter came, not from Durmstrang, his first choice, or Hogwarts, his second. Not even from Salem College, in the United States, and he was not all fond of the United States – the war, you know – but he would have danced with happiness if they had invited his son to be educated there. But Klaus had never even a hint of magic about him.

“It was the same as before, with his father. Magical women did not want Klaus, who had no magic. Even if they had been willing to overlook the lack of magic for the beauty of his face, his body, for his status as heir, his personality put them off. He was a stern, frowning man who had many responsibilities. He was not very good at courting women. In fact, he was terrible at it. At first, when he began to show an interest in a woman and she happened to be Muggle, his father always managed to discourage the match. The father would introduce him to witches, but all his son's attempts at courting witches were disasters in other ways, as he did not know they were witches. Of course. From the point of view of Klaus, he every time would meet a woman, and think he had caught her interest, abruptly she would drop him. Since he didn't know about his father's manipulation and about the witches, he became confused and frustrated and gave up on trying to find a wife. He concentrated on his career.

“Eventually his father relented. It was a big sacrifice for him, but he decided that it was not so important to have a witch in the family, if only Klaus would only marry someone, anyone! He began to wonder if his son even liked ladies. In fact, he thought Klaus might like men. That was my fault.”

“Your fault?” Kurt asked. He was eying Dorian, who was pulling a long tail of hair out of the back of his robes, taking off the leather tie and shaking out an incredible amount of yellow curls. “Oh.” said Kurt when he caught the whole effect. Dorian smiled warmly at the boy and and watched the Adam's apple bob as the boy swallowed, hard. So nice to know one still had the knack.

“I was fluttering around Klaus every chance I could get, darling. And never once did he give me so much as a glance back. But there I was, and once the old man saw us outside the NATO office, and I was flirting with Klaus, as I always do. Very innocent, but Klaus's father drew his own conclusions. Well, the old man was willing to overlook a lack of magic, apparently, but not That. He was afraid of having no one at all to carry on his name.” Dorian paused in this story to look at the small watch on his wrist. “Oh, dear. Perhaps we had better talk as we go. It's such a big building, isn't it?”

“We have some of it closed off, to save costs,” the boy volunteered as they both stood up. They went out of the room and along the corridor, the child trailing just a little behind. At every door, Dorian would open it, repeat his spell, wait, and move on. Sometimes if there was a rattle from a drawer, or an aura of red around an item, he went in and investigated further, often retrieving a small item. Usually casting the spell from the doorway sufficed, as there was nothing to find.. He was amassing a very large collection of NATO pens, but little else.“What happened next?” Kurt asked as they started down the north stairway.

“When Klaus reached his thirty-fifth birthday, his father made up his mind that Klaus was never going to marry, and he went hunting for a Very Bad Wizard. He found one who could do what was wanted. For a very large fee, of course.” Dorian opened the door to a bathroom that looked like it was seldom used and chanted his spell. This time there was a thump from the cabinet on the wall. The door came open and a rolled elastic bandage flew through the air. Dorian easily caught it and inspected it before shrugging and putting it his velvet bag.

“What happened?”

“The very bad wizard had a potion called Draught of Living Death, and first the nasty bastard knocked the dear Major in the head and then he spelled the potion into his stomach. Then he left him there to bleed onto the carpet, to live or die as he would. Klaus was not found until the next day, by his very worried men. They took him to hospital and the hospital gave him the finest care. But poor Klaus never woke up.”

'Ohhh.” The boy said, and then added, “That was mean. Unsportsmanlike.”

“Exactly so.” They were in an empty room. The spell had brought nothing forth, but Dorian had entered anyway and was soon on his knees behind the door, prying with a small tool he brought from a pocket in his robe. There was a click and a small sliding door became visible as Dorian pulled it open. “Isn't this a sweet little pocket? One pushes this knot, here, do you see?” Dorian demonstrated. Inside were was a stack of bills and some letters. “1937,” Dorian observed as he glanced at the postmark. “You might like to show this hidey hole to your father at some point,” he said, pushing it all back inside and closing the sliding panel. He stood up, brushed the dust from his robe and led the way out.

Turning to Kurt, Dorian said, “That was fun. I love finding secrets, don't you? There are probably others. Many castles have them. You should amuse yourself finding them, on rainy days.”

“Yes sir,” the boy said, automatically. He was looking over his shoulder, no doubt marking which room it was in his mind.

In the next room, which was filled with furniture not currently in use, the spell caused a red halo to settle around a footstool. It was small, with the legs painted black and with an attractive bit of tapestry on top. Dorian shrank it and tucked it into the velvet bag, then saw the boy staring at it and said, “Marvelous wizarding invention, this bag. It holds a great deal more than it should. I so wish I had one of these when I was working.”

“Working?” asked Kurt.

“Oh, yes, In my youth I was an excellent thief. I even worked for NATO several times. Where I met your lovely cousin.”

“Why did you steal things?” Kurt asked.

“Dear heart, one story at a time!” Dorian was striding down the hall again, flicking his wand at every bit of furniture lining the walls. “Although that, too, involves magic. It turns out almost everything does. Magic and relatives,” he laughed.

“But, what happened to Klaus?” the boy asked.

“Our story left Klaus in the hospital, did it not? There he stayed for three months, without coming out of the coma. Then the Graf took him and had him placed in a lovely sanitarium for the rest of the year, and after that, he moved him to a very modest place in Switzerland where such sad cases are housed. A place where they take the hopeless cases to wait to die. He did not say to anyone where Klaus was.”

When they reached the next room, Dorian began again. “It took me forever, darling, to find where my man had been taken, and when I did! I was horrified! He'd lost so much weight. And the room!  
No ventilation, and not even a window. They kept the lights low always. Someone tended to his body in the morning and in the afternoon, and once in the night, and the rest of the time left him as he was. He had bedsores and they had shaved his head! He was wearing one of those hospital robes that don't fit well, split up the back. He would have been terribly upset if he had known. As he could not, I became quite upset in his stead.”

They stopped for another room. In this one the swirling red dust indicated another hidden space, in the wall. After prying up a tile, they found a little wooden box, which Dorian put away in his bag without looking inside. After using a sticking charm to put the tile back in place, Dorian said, “You might want to keep an eye on that and have it properly fixed. It turns out my sticking charms only last a month or two.”

“What did you do?”

“For Klaus? I made the last major heist of my career, dear lad. I took him.”

“Took him?”

“In the dead of night, without leaving a trace. I didn't even leave my card behind. My team and I were away by dawn, and we smuggled him out of the country and over to England. We used the zeppelin. Lovely machine. We still have it. We use it for advertizing at trade shows, and rent it out upon occasion. Would you like to take your friends up? Say for your sixteenth birthday? It's great fun!”

Kurt's eyes went wide again. He nodded cautiously. Dorian whipped out a small notebook, made a note and then slid it into his pocket again.

“We took him to my castle in the dead of night. I had called in doctors, had made a room ready, bought all the doctors said he needed, and I hired nurses and therapists. It took months before poor Klaus was healthy again, but we couldn't get him to wake. We tried music therapy, hypnotism, electroshock—but only mild shocks. I could not bear to hurt my Major more, he was suffering so already. The only thing we ever tried which helped at all was cleaning his blood, and that was accidental. He became sick and the doctor recommended a process to filter out impurities in his blood. I'm not sure it was an improvement; afterward, he would sometimes moan, and twitch a little. He even turned over once on his own! This eventually stopped and he returned to the comatose state he had been enduring for five years. It was so heartbreaking, we really thought he was waking up, that all our effort would be rewarded.”

“He was asleep for five years?” Kurt asked, astonished.

“Almost ten, in the end. We finally found some wizards who understood the problem, and with their help he woke up at last! Thank goodness we had kept up the physical therapy, and...ah. Perhaps I should not make the story too long. It took both potions and wands to make him well.”

Kurt frowned. “Why didn't you try magic before that?”

“Oh, child, another long story! I didn't know about wizards. I thought them just tales.”

“But you're a wizard.”

“I didn't come into my magical inheritance until I was,” he paused, struggled with the truth, but then just said it, “thirty-nine years old.”

“You don't look thirty-nine years old,” the boy told him solemnly.

Dorian, now nearing forty-two, tossed his glorious curls and looked down at the boy from behind one luxurious wave. “You darling! Thank you for saying so!”

Kurt looked distinctly unnerved by this. No doubt he was unused to anyone so utterly gay and fabulous in his vicinity. “So. What happened next.”

“We worked hard to get Klaus to walk again, and eat again, and talk again. And we investigated, of course, what had happened.”

“What grandfather did.”

“You call him grandfather?”

“Mama says he wants us to, so we do.”

Of course. Dorian huffed. “She wants to keep him happy, of course.”

“He IS the head of the house,” the boy explained. “But he is sick now. He spends most of the time in his bed. We don't see him, often. He has nurses, and we must not get in their way.”

“Ah,”

Dorian had entered another room. Mmm! “What lovely old pieces.” The room was given over to the storage of cloth and tapestry. “How sad they are hidden away!” The racks were huge and heavy, and supported both big rugs and small framed works. Automatically, Dorian murmured the spell, and was rather startled to find several small items turn red. One by one he searched them out, inspected each, shrunk it, and shoved it into his velvet sack. “Made by his mother, perhaps,” Dorian suggested as he stared at an embroidered square. He could think of no other way such things would come into Klaus's possession. Or stay there once acquired. Interesting. So items that might belong by right of descent, and were not entailed to the estate, were recognized by the spell? Or did Klaus just not recognize that the items were his? An unappreciated gift?

It wasn't until they had finished that floor and went down the stairs to the next level that Kurt dared prod him for the rest of the story.

“We discovered that not only did the old man hire a wizard to disable his son and steal the rest of his life, and not only had he hidden him away without any attempt to make him comfortable, but he had taken all his son's things. He either threw them out, sold them, or kept them. Klaus's cars, his weapons. Sold the flat and kept the money. Cleared the bank accounts and savings, and directed the stipend for his son's care into the estate bank account. Even after he knew someone had taken his son away.”

“That would be against the law. Grandfather will have to pay the government back.” Kurt was frowning that frown again, the one that looked too old for his little boy face.

“It was morally reprehensible, more to the point.” Even as Eroica he had had SOME moral standards. It wasn't, as the boy had said, sportsmanlike, to steal the last mark from a man in a coma. And the only reason the old goat would have done that is if he were absolutely sure that Klaus would not wake up.

“At any rate, this week our lawyers have asked for the money back. We will probably get it; the old man will want to protect what he can of his reputation. But we could not ask for the items Klaus left behind in the schloss here, we didn't know what was left. We did not want to take anything which did not belong to Klaus by right, so we have this spell, which calls to us everything which Klaus considered his.”

“Oh! That's not really stealing, then, is it?” The boy was smiling now, and it made a good difference in his face.

“I do not think so, no.”

“It's like looking for hidden treasure!” The boy was definitely warming to the entire idea, his eyes were sparkling.

“Yes, and I have only one day to do it, so we must move along now.” They went from room to room more quickly, with Kurt becoming more active in the search as he opened doors, closets, and drawers in furniture, and helped retrieve items found. Dorian, doubtless ruining the young man for life, pointed out weaknesses in the security, hiding places for games or other adventures, and gave a running commentary on the artistic merits of such paintings, statues, and furniture as they came across them.

“Now, this piece is nice,” Dorian said. “Notice this—not veneer at all, all solid wood. With professional restoration it could be worth fifty thousand pounds, assuming no one has been nitwit enough to try...no, the drawers are pristine, very nice. Sinfully heavy, which is why no one has carted it off, no doubt.” And later, “This is a darling desk, Kurt, see if you can have it in your room. There are secret drawers here, and here. Try to open this one...a little harder, keep a light pull...ah! Treasures already here! Italian coins, most of them. This one? Pure gold. Let's try the other one. Ah, needs a key. Your pardon, but I just happen to have just the tool...ah. Well! The jewels in the handle of this letter opener are quite genuine. Hmm. The earrings, too. Sapphires. Not the rest of these, though. Glass, although quite good otherwise. Aren't we having fun?”

“Yes,” said Kurt, hanging over the drawer and poking at the tumble of jewels.

“They're all jumbled like that because they were not secured before moving. You might find out who they belonged to if you can discover what room the desk came from originally. And where it was before that. Now, more steps? Oh, look, a gun room!”

“There are four,” Kurt offered. “Three in the house and one out there, which has the shooting range.” He pointed out the window at a long, low building which had probably once been a stable. On the other side of the building a lone figure on a black horse was following the edge of the lawn, heedful of the effect of hooves on fine grass.

“Three? We will have a job there! Klaus is an excellent shot, you know, and won prizes even before he joined the army” It was indeed, a job. Eight rifles, twelve pistols, eight boxes of ammunition, a cleaning kit, and a large selection of knives went into the velvet sack. It involved climbing, prying up the edges of frames, unfastening straps and unlocking drawers. Dorian, it must be confessed, was showing off just a tiny bit, and enjoying the mild destruction, which he always put back into order with is wand. It was a lovely wand, all gold and white, which Dorian had a habit of holding loosely with two fingers, which drew attention to his hands.

In the adjoining room, the medals that Klaus had won shooting filled an entire box, and there was another box of certificates and papers, and a football trophy, too, all from the schoolboy years. The last two rooms were actually a museum, with antique weapons of all kinds mounted on the wall or in elegant cases. Nothing there actually belonged to Klaus, and for the first time Eroica came to the surface and Dorian had a deep urge to take some of them. The ones the spell circled, lightly pink, indicating they had bee often handled by Klaus, as well as several masterpieces of forged steel that were pieces of art in their own right.

But no.

He turned away. The mementos from the army years must be in another room. If here at all.

When the wing was finished, they went downstairs. “Shall we do the kitchens, now?” Kurt asked.

“Hungry?” Dorian asked.

“A little.”

“Well, will we find people there? Will they throw us out?”

“Cook will be making lunch, perhaps. But I do not know if she knows about magic.”

“We shall be quite circumspect.” He flicked his wand and muttered a 'notice me not' spell.

The cook was indeed there, but she was busy with her own concerns. She attempted to send young Kurt away without the snack he was seeking, While he was distracting her, Dorian waved his wand. Rather to his surprise, there were four sparking red flashes. He gestured towards Kurt to try again for a treat, and quickly went to work. Another gesture when he was done and the two of them left the room quietly.

They settled in an alcove halfway up the steps. “First, your reward for a job well done! Do you like sweets?”

“Yes. Well....sometimes.”

“Then chocolate it is. One goes nowhere in the magical world without it, I have learned. Sugar and magic have some sort of connection. Quite hard on poor Klaus, who doesn't have a taste for it.”

“A chocolate frog! I have not had one before, but my friend Franz has told me about them. They have a card of a famous wizard inside!”

“So they do. Whom do you have?”

“Ah. Someone named Elena Cooperheart. I have not heard of her,” he said dubiously.

“Nor have I. Let me see,” Dorian said, reading over the boy's shoulder. “I see. Very brave of her.”

“I could begin a collection. How do I get more?”

“I will send you more cards. There's quite a few of them around the house these days.” While he was talking he was unwrapping the string from the old-fashioned folder he had collected from the back of a drawer in the pantry. Inside there was a thin stack of childish drawings, most of them done in pencil, a few in crayon. Carefully he wrapped them up again and slid them into the velvet bag. Conrad had kept them, no doubt. Dorian thought of the old butler and wondered what had become of him.

He stood up. “Where shall we go next?”

“Could we go into the cellars?” the boy asked eagerly. “There are dungeons. Sort of. At least, there were cells, but they were empty when we got here and mother has turned them into storage, so there are only rows of little box rooms with no windows. Nothing in them but papers.”

“Lead on!”

A wander through the extensive wine cellar produced one lonely bottle of wine. The rest of the first level of the subterranean rooms revealed nothing else until they came to a storeroom which had nothing in the room itself, but did have a loft filled with boxes. Seeing no ladder to reach it, Dorian tossed the youngster up onto the platform and leaped up himself, pulling his body through the opening easily. He noted the admiring glance and grinned back at Kurt, sharing the fun. The spell did not mark anything here as belonging to Klaus, but Dorian was curious.

There was not enough room to stand up, so they sat cross-legged.

“Look,” he said as he knelt by the boy and pointed up into the dark shadows in the corner. “There is a hatch here, in the ceiling. These things can be retrieved from this room by an entry in the floor above. It should be...” Dorian reached into his robe and drew forth a set of simple blueprints. He spread them out on the rough wood platform. “Ah! It comes from the small room just off the smoking room. Quite the little puzzle. Let me take a peek into these boxes, just to satisfy...oh. Dear.”

“What is it?”

Dorian looked askance at him, as he investigated another box. Finally he decided on honesty. “Very bad pornography, dear boy. Of the type that does not personally appeal to me.” That made the boy giggle. “Because there is a market for such things when they are this old, I think they should be preserved. But you are too young, and I do not know if your parents are they type to throw such things out on sight. Which would be foolish. There's enough here to pay for a year at university. I wonder if Klaus ever found this stash? It might explain...or not. At any rate, I do not want anyone to say I introduced you to porn! Might I trust you to leave these items unexplored until much later?”

Kurt nodded, and Dorian looked around again and said. “This could be useful in other ways. If there is ever an emergency, come down this way and then out the stairs to the trade entrance. Always good to have an escape route. To do that, you must discover from the other end how to open the trap and get down. Right now it is locked from the other side, but see this hole? It can be unlocked from this side. I suspect a screwdriver pushed in there would unlock it if nothing obstructs.”

Kurt said, “This is very educational. What is this?” He held up a bundle of rope.

Dorian managed to keep his face serene as he said. “I think it is a rope ladder. One clips it to itself around this rail, and then this, and then one climbs down.”

“Oh,” the boy nodded.

Dorian could practically see the child deciding to learn how to climb ropes. Not that it was a bad thing. But it was definitely time to move on. Dorian leaped down easily, then held out his arms for the young man, who showed more trust than he ought to, perhaps, as he launched himself down. Dorian swung him wide before he set Kurt on the floor, and they both laughed. The sense of adventure held as they crawled into spaces under stairs and checked the rafters. They dislodged a spider or two but found nothing that belonged to Klaus. Dorian cast a spell to draw attention away from the loft. Just in case.

As they were on the bottom level, getting ready to leave, Dorian was side-tracked by a section of plain wall. “This,” he said, “according to the plans I have, should have a door. It's sealed by magic. The door might just be hidden by a spell, or it might have been bricked up for safety reasons. Or perhaps it is something sinister. I want you to go just around the corner and sit with your back to me. I will tell you if you may turn around.”

“Do you suppose there are bodies and secret cells?” Kurt asked, doing as he was told, although it was very dusty.

“Frankly, I hope not. We don 't need the grief, and we're on a timetable here. Let me see....” He began to whisper spells, flicking his wand with casual grace, one leg extended slightly before him, and frowning as he concentrated. Eventually he changed his stance, half prowling back and forth. He stopped. “It is beyond my skills. How very annoying that we don't have the time for it.”

“Do you think his stuff is in there?”

“No, dear, not really. It seems older. Fifty years old, I would say. I just don't like being kept out. Or thwarted.”

“Me, either.”

Dorian took a deep breath and tried one more spell. A door wavered into visibility. “Ah!” Another spell to see if it was safe and then Dorian pushed the door open with his wand. “Oh, come to the doorway and look! A wizard's secret place!” A stack of cauldrons in the corner, cabinets with drawers of ingredients and implements, a work table. A library filled one corner. He automatically flicked his wand and muttered his spell, but nothing here had ever been touch by Klaus, much less belonged to him. “Another thing for you to explore after you have had some wizard's training.” He carefully hid the door again.

Dorian pointed to the stairs and they began to climb. “It is almost time for lunch. I'll go find Klaus and join him—we're having a little picnic by the water. We'll come in later and start in the smaller tower, if you wish to join us.”

“Oh. Yes, I like this. Thank you for showing me all the secret places!”

“And thank you for the company, Kurt darling. Ta!” Dorian eased out the service entrance and held his wand out on his palm. “Point me Klaus” he said softly, and then followed the way out and down to the small lake, where his lover stood on the bank, staring across the water. Dorian reached over and pressed a light kiss to the pale cheek.

“It's harder than you thought?” he asked.

“They are all idiots,” Klaus said, but without real rancor. After all, he had not expected anything else.

“Not all of them, Darling. I have been talking to young Kurt. A lad with definite possibilities.” Dorian was taking out a small packet from his pocket, which he enlarged to reveal a picnic hamper. “Bread, cheese, olives, sausages, beer, water, fruit, and cake. Very simple. A country picnic.” He spread a red cloth and set out the food in easy reach. As he folded himself down to sit on on one edge of the cloth, Klaus lowered himself on the other side. Klaus, he decided, was sitting oddly, so carefully on the blanket. As if he did not want to touch his ancestral earth.

Dorian opened a beer with a mutter and a wave of his wand and then directed it to pour into a glass while both bottle and glass were floating in min-air.

Klaus watched and said, “You are not only a show-off and a fop, but you are becoming lazy.”

“Nonsense, darling, I am working very hard. Practicing my magic at all times, to be ready for anything.”

“If anything is a beer, yes.” Klaus said, but he took the offered beer and swallowed a third of it down in one go.

“What is the most upsetting?” Dorian asked, finding bread and cheese and making a primitive sandwich, which he handed over. He took a peach for himself, and nibbled a hole in the skin before taking an actual bite.

“It does not feel like mine,” Klaus replied. “The land. There is a layer of...something, between myself and... I came here to say good-bye, to get closure, as that idiot friend of yours said. But it is if the land knows, and I know, that the door is already closed.”

“Does that make it easier?” Dorian wanted to know.

“Of course not. It only makes it weirder.”

Dorian nodded. “And sadder?”

Klaus shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly. The beer did not last long, but he waved it away when Dorian asked if he wished for another. He did take an apple, which he devoured to the point that there was almost nothing left. Before them, a duck mother with only two babies paddled close by. When they produced no crusts of bread she soon swam away. Dorian was making a sandwich for himself. Klaus threw the apple core into the lake.

“You did not eat much,” Dorian said after a few minutes.

“Do you want me fat?” Klaus asked, turning his head so that they were looking at each other. He was obviously making an effort to lighten the mood.

“Better than too thin. Magic takes calories, remember.”

Klaus snorted, and took out his cigarette. It was not a real cigarette. Dorian had refused to allow him to take up the habit again. But the ersatz cigarette they had invented as a compromise gave his hands something to do, and while it was a poor substitute in the area of taste, it did produce a glowing tip and realistic smoke. Klaus activated it with a wave of his hand and placed the end in his mouth, the familiar motions comforting. Klaus 'smoked' until Dorian was finished eating.

“I saw you out of the window.” Dorian told him. “You look very good on a horse, especially in your robe. It was like a painting, a page out of history, come to life.”

“There was only one horse, and also a child's pony, in the stables. We had ten horses when I was a boy.”

“As long as you enjoyed the ride.”

“Not much. I checked the stables. Nothing of mine there. Only one gun at the range, and it is broken. Tossed carelessly in a drawer.”

“I picked up several at the house. There has not been a lot to find, really.” Dorian reported. “But I haven't done the family wing, yet.”

“Tell me about this child.” He gestured with his 'cigarette' towards the house.

Dorian was used to conversations with Klaus which often took an abrupt hop to anther subject. “He discovered me almost right away. I hadn't used the notice me not spell, yet,” he confessed. “I went up to see the Man in Purple. It wasn't where I had left him.”

“Did you expect it? After ten years?”

“Of course I did. Silly, I suppose. Actually, there are several pieces not there. Mostly smaller, very portable ones. Which have never been in MY possession. Someone pilfering, I think, who does not have any knowledge of art.” Dorian was packing away the picnic after taking one last beer out. They shared it, passing the glass back and forth. Dorian found it romantic to place his lips on the exact spot from which Klaus had used. Klaus just drank beer and girded himself for the rest of the day's tasks.

Together they made their way back along the path. “He's not a pretty child, although I think he will grow up to be passably good looking. Very smart. He makes up his own mind about things. I invited him for a trip on the zep on his 16th birthday because I want to see how he grows up. I thought you might like to know...about his character.” 'Since he will be living the life you once had' remained unsaid.

“You are not telling him too much?” Klaus asked, ignoring what Dorian was trying to say.

Dorian rolled his eyes but shook his head. “I am, of course, picking his brain. Oh, and corrupting him, too. We found...Klaus, did you know there is an absolutely HUGE collection of vintage pornography in the cellars?”

“Yes.” Klaus shook his 'cigarette' to deactivate it, then tucked it into his pocket.

“Did you ever look at it?”

“Six times. I kept going back to try another box. I could not see the appeal.” It had worried him, at the time.

“Nor I, but it's not just that it it was designed for heterosexual men, or that it came out of culturally repressed times. It's the posed pictures, I think. Modern photography is more able to express motion and emotion. Although some of the subjects seemed extreme. I saw the one with the lady dancing among the goats...”

Klaus snorted. “There is much worse there, I assure you.”

“Then I hope young Kurt takes my advice and leaves it alone for a few years. It should appreciate in value nicely. It was a lovely collection, about a hundred thousand pounds if the other pictures are of the quality and era as the one I looked at.”

Klaus's head swiveled. “Bloody hell,” he said. Proof that he was spending way too much time with Bonham.

“I thought about taking some of it along, but I agreed to keep my hands in my pockets, didn't I? It was just that it is potentially in jeopardy. So many people really do not like to admit that their father or grandfather had such things, and throw it way on sight.” Dorian's grin flashed out. “Do you suppose your father...?

In a flat voice, Klaus said, “I don't want to think about that.”

“Quite understandable.” Dorian smirked. They went in the service entrance and began climbing the stairs. Kurt found them in only a minute, running up to them as they achieved the second floor, his eyes flicking from Dorian to Klaus with a question in his eyes.

“Ah, Kurt! Klaus, may I introduce to your young cousin Kurt?” Kurt stood very tall and shook hands very formally. Klaus sternly inspected the boy and then nodded to him. Kurt seemed fascinated, his eyes flicking from hair to wand as if he did not know which he found more interesting.

“May I ask, sir? About your hair?” The boy seemed quite nervous about asking such a personal question.

“I was struck by lightning,” Klaus said, keeping to the most simple explanation. His hair was an unusual color of grey with darker highlights, and a narrow streak of white in the fringe.

“Isn't the color unique? Just exactly the color of a steel tank!” Dorian was beaming proudly.

“Iron Klaus. My father said you were called Iron Klaus. Is it because of the color of your hair?”

“No. Another story for another day,” Dorian said. They had come to the first room on the family floor. The door was locked, but that was easily dealt with. It was a guest room, without much character, and it looked exactly as Klaus had seen it last. Dorian was doing the spellwork, but at the next room Klaus took over. None of the guest rooms produced anything.

“Our rooms start here,” Kurt said as they turned a corner. “This one is mother and father, and I'm the one beyond that. My brother and sister are across the hall.” He pointed to one room and then the one next to it. “No one is in their rooms. Father and mother are out and the nanny has Klara and Kevin with her. They are buying shoes.”

“Then I do hope you will forgive the intrusion, personally and on behalf of your family. What a good thing you are here. You can assure them that we did not interfere with your possessions,” Dorian said. And indeed, there was nothing to find. The bedrooms seemed a little bland, and Kurt's could definitely benefit from the addition of a few more pieces of furniture, and some pictures on the wall. Soon they were climbing steps to the next floor.

“The only one up on this level is grandfather,” Kurt said as they entered the corridor. “And his nurses. He has a day nurse and a night nurse now.” He had to step aside as Klaus had stopped dead.

“Now, dearest, the new carpet isn't that bad,” Dorian said, knowing full well that the carpet had not been the cause. Although it was much inferior to what had been there before.

Klaus ignored that and said, “My room was there,” he pointed to the left. “I will check that, my mother's rooms, and that of the Graf. If you would please do the others,” he said stiffly.

“Certainly. Come along, Kurt. We still have so many to do!” Dorian urged the boy along. Kurt looked back over his shoulder as they moved past Klaus.

“He looks fierce,” Kurt whispered when they were far enough away.

“It's his way when faced with any hard task. He will speak to the old man. It will be quite awkward, don't you think?”

“What is he going to say?”

“I...do not know. I think we should talk about how best to address the question of the servants if they are in their rooms. How can we check if the rooms are occupied? Do you have any suggestions?” Dorian asked brightly. “I've not yet learned 'obliviate' you know. Frankly, they don't teach it at Hogwarts. They don't go around explaining how to take memories. You must learn it on your own.”

“Did you go to Hogwarts?” Kurt asked, intrigued.

“Klaus and I have a private tutor, provided by Hogwarts. We learned about our wizarding heritage rather late. I do wish I could have gone to school there, it would have been fabulous.”

“I...” Kurt did not finish his sentence.

“Yes?” Dorian said, his soft voice urging confidences.

“I want to go to a wizard school. I do. But...I'm afraid I will not have much magic. Father has some magic with plants, he is very good at growing them. He didn't go to school to learn his magic. He was taught by his mother. He knows all the spells like lumos and accio. He uses his magic, he is a wizard. He is! But it is hard for him and leaves him tired. Magic was why the Graf chose him. But what if...I don't....”

Dorian's large hand settled on his shoulder and he stopped walking, forcing Kurt to stop as well. “You want magic in full measure. You want enough magic that you are not at a disadvantage. You know you have enough drive and intelligence to succeed, but also know that if you do not have the magic to begin with, you might never advance. You are afraid that those with a full measure of magic will mock you or bully you.”

Kurt nodded, looking down at the floor. His nose and eyes were becoming slightly pink as he fought off his emotion.

“Imagine how your grandfather felt, with even less.” Kurt looked up, startled. “How the generation before felt, when magic thinned. It is not just your problem, Kurt. The answer is to do the very best you can, and to make good allies. You mustn't make the mistakes your grandfather has made. He harmed you and your family as well as my darling Klaus, dear. Made your position so very much harder. It will be your job to convince the next generation that 'von dem Eberbach' is not shorthand for ' family murdering lout.' You, dear boy, will be facing a bigger job than you know. If your magic is not enough, you may be the one to formally close the wizarding branch of the family down for good. In which case, I would greatly appreciate having first dibs on the room downstairs. For God's sake don't sell it to some dark wizard such as the one who poisoned Klaus!”

Kurt muffled some words under his breath, the last of which was definitely one of which his mother would not approve. Dorian knelt and swept him into a rose scented embrace. “There, I didn't mean to bring that up just yet. You have years before you're facing the worst of this cesspit your grandfather has thrown us into. Pay no attention to me, I was just letting out my frustration and twittering on about worst case scenarios!”

Kurt rested for a moment against the thick soft cloth under his cheek and then fought his way out of the cloud of yellow curls. “It's okay.”

“Well, it isn't, but Klaus said on our way here that this family deserved to know what they were thrown into, and now I suppose he'll be pleased I spoke. And he and I will help you a little. Perhaps not directly. It's just that Klaus has declared he is no longer a von dem Eberbach, and he says he will NOT be forced into the position of coming back here. He does not want to come back here, ever. A clean break with the past so he can make his own future.” A rejection of all that had been torn from him. A way of avoiding pain.

“If he is not a von dem Eberbach, what is he?” Kurt asked, confused.

“He is Klaus Eisen. He wanted a simple name.”

“Iron Klaus.”

“He will always be Iron Klaus, dear. I asked him if he wanted to add my name, or Gloria, to it. I thought Klaus Eisen of Gloria, or Klaus Eisen Red sounded quite nice, but he snorted at me. He gave me this 'you must be insane' look and muttered something about red iron was rust.”

“I thought you said your name was Dorian.”

“Well, my first name, of course. You and I were the sort stuck with an unwieldy number of names, but you may always call me Dorian. To change the subject, we really must hurry on with our task.” Dorian stood up and waved his wand in the direction of the stairs. They commenced the tour of the staff quarters. It was rather fun, all things considered. Kurt was lookout, and if a staff member approached, Kurt was charged with inventing errands and pretending to have been sent with a message. He was remarkably successful, and began to elaborate upon his tales, until Dorian took him aside and explained to him how best to lie. Dorian swore him to secrecy, first. It was bad enough about the porn, but the lying was something children needed to learn at their own pace. Each lie was a personal decision and too many too fast could derail the development that came with each decision. Children—or men—who lied as a matter of course, were not really good at it and soon lost their credibility. The trick to lying was to keep as close to the truth as possible and not do it very often.

The butler's office yielded unexpected bounty, in that there were old files which filled an entire drawer of a file cabinet. Canceled checks, old invoices, any item with Klaus's signature on it tucked away with the estate files, glowed red with the application of the spell. Even though it took time, Dorian copied all the files one by one, taking the originals and leaving the copies. He then found the key cabinet and liberated six keys.

Finished at last with those rooms, they went along to the corridor off the kitchen where supplies were kept, and worked their way through the refrigerated units and the bulk packaged goods. Replacement parts, the extra light bulbs (which had their own room!) the storage for the mops and waxing machines and cleaning products. Dorian found things which did not belong to Klaus, but were quite of interest none the less. Someone smoked marijuana and hid it in the frozen meats locker. Someone else had a wad of bills wrapped in plastic in the back behind the vegetables. Someone made their own sauerkraut from scratch.

There were rooms with sets of silver and china, with rows of cupboards and shelves. The linens took up two full rooms as well. Dorian picked up one embroidered cloth from a rag bin, but found nothing else.

From there, they approached the massive, more public rooms downstairs, the grand rooms of the house used for entertaining. While Dorian checked walls and hangings in the ballroom, Kurt took off his shoes and spent the time racing across the room in his stockings, sliding for meters until he ran into walls. He confessed he was not permitted to do this usually and Dorian could see why; the clean streaks which resulted showed that the room was not swept on a regular basis. When Dorian pointed this out, the boy ran off for a wide mop and worked quite hard to wipe out the evidence.

They found the smoking room and the small reading room next to it. The door was inside a nook and could not be seen from the center of the room. Only large enough to hold a drinks cabinet, bookcase, a sofa and chair, and two lovely Tiffany lamps, the room was cozy and quiet. They crawled on the floor, discovering how the rug pulled back for access to the well-disguised hatch. The key and and small torch were tucked into their own carved chest, but the batteries in the torch had corroded. Dorian got out his own small light and they peered down into the shadows.

When at last they tore themselves away, Dorian applied himself to searching the adjoining smoking room. He came up only an almost empty cigar box, and a beautiful match jar, over which Dorian cooed for several minutes. The yellow reception room, the ladies parlors, the card room, the three dining rooms which included two huge and formal rooms, and one small one nearest the kitchen which the family used. The sun room, the conservatory, did not take much time as they had been completely redone at some point in the last decade.

The trophy room, however, was exactly as he remembered it. The mounted heads on the wall all looked depressed and un-dusted, the heavy sideboards and dark tables were also showing neglect. The paintings on the walls were quite boring hunting prints and uninspired oils featuring oddly proportioned horses and dogs, all green and brown with flashes of white and red. One of them showed dogs fighting with a huge boar, and another a defeated boar being carried by peasants, who had it slung from large poles. Proud nobles, muskets over their shoulders, rode in front.

No less than three fireplaces graced the walls, one at each end, one on the north wall.

The room contained nothing which had belonged to Klaus, but Dorian found he was tremendously unwilling to leave it.

“What's wrong?” Kurt asked, when they had circled the room three times.

Dorian just shook his curls and frowned. “Help me move this furniture, lad. I wish to look under the carpet.” Most of the pieces were heavy enough to need Dorian to lift it with his wand, while Kurt pushed it gently to the other end of the room. When half the room was empty, Dorian tried to get the carpet to roll itself up and failed miserably, although he laughed at his efforts and did not take it badly. Kurt and he ended up on their knees, rolling it up by hand at first, then using Dorian's magic to push it along.

They uncovered a square of polished wood set into the floor, which, when lifted, revealed, incised into the stone, a design. An elaborately carved border of vines and spears, about a meter on each side, highlighted a plain, flat reddish stone set into the middle.

“What is that?” Kurt asked, whispering.

“That, my darling boy, is the ward stone of this house.” Heedless of the dust, Dorian folded himself onto the floor and studied it. When Kurt reached forward, Dorian snatched out and grabbed his hand. “Careful! These things are very dangerous!” He let go of the boy's hand and leaned forward, “Although this one is practically dead, I fear.”

“But what is it? What does it do?”

“It anchors wards. Wards are protections. Magical protections.” Dorian was whispering, and he scooted back a bit. Even though he had some training now on dealing with wards, he was still dealing with the unhappy result of falling thrall to his own wards. “For this we will have to wait for Klaus. Then, I think this is also one of the items which you should show your father. Does he know this is here?”

“I don't think so.” While he was speaking, Dorian had extended his wand and, quite tentatively, mumbled a few words. The ward stone glowed, quite faintly, for less than a second. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“Just neglect, I fear. Once a generation it should be energized. Rededicated. “ Dorian stood up. “Let us leave this and finish the job I came to do.”

“Just...leave it this way?” Kurt's voice was plaintive. His mother would not be at all happy! In fact, now that he thought about it, his mother would be very unhappy to have a visitor see all this dust and dirt.

“Only for awhile. Come, my sweet! Perhaps further wonders await!” Dorian bounced back to his feet and lead the way. They were almost done, and were reduced to checking guest closets. Last of all, they wandered the hallways, looking for more secret compartments and hidden doors. All they found was a toy car Kurt had lost several months ago, and a hoard of candy in a short and ugly vase which Kurt decided was the treasure of his smaller sister.

Dorian, thinking again of the connection between magic and sugar, wondered if Kurt's siblings also held magic, and how much. It would so lonely to be the only one, and perhaps, dangerous. He was standing there, lost in thought, when he heard a familiar tread on the stairs.

“All done, darling?” he asked as Klaus came into sight.

“It is finished.”

The flat voice worried Dorian a little, but he did not wish to fuss in front of the boy. “Then we have a small problem upon which we would like to ask your advice.” Dorian led the way to the trophy room, and the ward stone. Klaus stood, looking down on it, scowling.

“Dammit,” he said finally. His eyes met Dorian's. The current inhabitants were unprotected with the wards in this state. Neither Klaus or Dorian had any obligations in this matter, and yet.... “I can't,” he said. In this case, he literally could not. “You can't either!”

“Ja, I know.” He said 'Ja' just to see that momentary sparkle in his darling's eyes. It amused them both when bits of their languages became interchangeable. “But I have thought. If Kurt's hand is down first, then mine, then yours?”

“Perhaps. Both his hands?” Klaus looked down at the boy. “Does he have the magic for it?”

“I know he has some.” But was it enough? Dorian sighed. “Perhaps if he did not try to add his magic. Just a neutral element. The magic might just pass through him.” He took a deep breath. “If I can not take my hand away at the right time, you can do it.”

“It could go wrong.”  
“Then I have an idea. Why don't we hire it done?” Dorian grinned, knowing that hearing something so practical coming out of his mouth would amuse Klaus and that later he would be teased about it.

“Okay. Fine.” Klaus nodded firmly. He approved of that. Severus had warned them about the dangers of reaching the point of confidence in one's magic while not knowing enough to keep themselves out of real trouble. He pointed over at the nearest table and said, “I have some things to write down. Ten minutes.”

“We could all use a snack.” Dorian produced a tiny thermos from his pocket and enlarged it. “Hot chocolate?” He considered it proof of the state Klaus was in that he took the cup handed to him and drank it without comment. He even ate one of the small tarts handed round.

Kurt, while making his way through the plate of pastries with the enthusiasm of a growing boy, alternated bites with glances at his cousin's grim face. The man bent over his paper, writing hard and fast, his face showing a touch of anger, and even more exasperation. Outside the window, the sun was going down, and a light rain had started. There was no sound except the scratch of the pen. Kurt knew enough to keep silent when adults were concentrating. His father got terribly crabby if interrupted while doing maths, and would shout spoken to at a vital moment.

At last Klaus finished, went to the writing desk in the corner and pulled out an envelope, into which he placed the folded paper. Turning back, he said to Kurt,” “Give this to your father.” Then he went back to the table, and produced from under his robe a velvet sack, much like the one Dorian had been using, only this one was a dull black. He pulled out a stationery box, and to Kurt's surprise, an umbrella, as well as a handful of objects which he poured from his hand out onto the table. Seeing them, Dorian went searching through his own bag, and produced two pens and a tie clip, which he added to the pile.

Klaus looked at Kurt and said, “These are marked with the initials KHvdE. Your initials. I have no use for these things. I do not want them. You are welcome to have them. If you have no use for them, I will vanish them.”

Kurt looked down, and with one finger he straightened a money clip, and then a black wallet which looked well worn. He looked up into green eyes which were showing no emotion at the moment, and yet.... “Thank you. I would like to have them,” he said politely.

“Good,” Dorian said, and produced another velvet bag, this one also red, into which he placed the items before he handed the bag to Kurt. He looked over at Klaus, and smiled a small, sweet smile. “Then it's time to go, isn't it? Good-bye, young Kurt. We will see each other again when you turn sixteen?”

“I..yes.” The two were walking out and he followed them to the front door, where he stopped. They went down the steps and Klaus took Dorian's arm as they vanished into the the evening's purple and gray. The automatic light at the steps came on at that moment, so he could see them again for another few seconds before they disappeared again. “Good-bye!” he shouted.


End file.
